


Aftermath

by LoriLee (cowgirl65)



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirl65/pseuds/LoriLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old enemy takes his revenge on Jarrod.  spoilers for the first season episode 'Hazard'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any television show and make nothing from writing this other than cheap thrills

“Good. You got him.”

The smooth deep voice made it through the haze that obscured the recently unconscious man’s mind. He tried to open his eyes, but the shaft of sunlight that hit his face seared through his head like fire.

“What do you want me to do with him?”

He heard the clink of coins and then the voice again. “I don’t rightly care.” It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it, not and try to breathe through the stabbing pain in his chest at the same time. “My nephew’s dead because of him,” the voice continued. “He ruined me and now I want you to ruin him.”

“You want him dead?”

There was a long pause. “Eventually. But I want him to suffer. Something I hear you’re good at. The longer, the better.”

“You got it, Mr. Coulter.”

“ _Judge_ Coulter,” the voice snapped and a shiver of terror crept up Jarrod’s spine. The events in Coryville that resulted in Ben Coulter losing his position as virtual dictator of the town happened over a year ago and Jarrod could still remember the cold fury in the man’s eyes before he and his brothers rode out of town. “Just because Jarrod Barkley stripped everything away from me, doesn’t mean I’m not still entitled to that respect!”

“Whatever you say, Judge. You’re the one paying the bills.”

Jarrod felt a sharp pain in his side as the toe of a boot struck his injured ribs. Thinking it might be better if they didn’t realize he was conscious, he used all his willpower to remain still.

“Not even a Barkley crosses Ben Coulter,” the former judge snarled. “But I don’t think you’re going to have a chance to forget that.”

Jarrod heard the heavy tread fade away and then sputtered and coughed as cold water was dashed onto his face. A hand grabbed his chin roughly and he gasped in pain when his head was wrenched to the side. He cracked open the eyelid again and looked into the dark eyes of a thin, saturnine face.

“Not so pretty now, are you?” There was malevolence in those eyes that struck a spark of terror in the pit of Jarrod’s stomach. The hand released his chin and travelled down his chest to touch the exposed skin where the buttons had been torn off Jarrod’s shirt. “But you’re still pretty enough where it counts, even though I doubt that will be for long, either.”

Jarrod struggled to get free as the hand roamed across his belly, but was unable to stop it from moving below his belt and squeezing his groin painfully. Jarrod’s teeth clenched as he tried not to think of what that action might mean.

He concentrated on his surroundings instead. He could feel rough wood against his cheek and his arms were drawn forward, tied together tightly around the post his head and chest rested on.

“A little anticipation will only heighten the experience.” The man’s breath felt hot in Jarrod’s ear. “So I’ll just leave you for now. I’m in no hurry.”

Jarrod forced his eye open again and winced at the light that came through as a door opened and shut. He could make out the shapes of stalls and farm implements through his hazy vision and dust motes floated through the sunbeam that forced its way through an upper window. A barn, most likely, and he was tied to a large support post in the center.

Jarrod pulled on the thick leather thong binding his hands, but they were tied much too tightly to give him any hope of working his way free. Trying to shift and ease the strain on his shoulders only sent pain lancing through what must be broken ribs and Jarrod soon gave up. He rested on his haunches and leaned his forehead against the post as he contemplated his situation.

How the devil had he ended up in this position anyway? Coulter was obviously holding more than a simple grudge for the events that ruined the judge’s career. The insinuations that he was involved with the murder and cover up surrounding the death of the schoolteacher in Coryville had ended with Jarrod and his brothers shooting Coulter’s nephew Matt and the judge had been quickly stripped of his title and the almost absolute power was lost with it.

Jarrod fought to clear his mind. He knew from his swollen eye and throbbing head that he likely had a concussion and was fairly certain that several ribs were cracked, if not broken. What he couldn’t tell was how much time he’d lost. Surely he’d be missed and hopefully there’d be some trace to lead his brothers to his aid.

Suddenly, his thoughts cleared and Jarrod’s hopes fell.

 _The sun was shining and a cool breeze whispered through the leaves as Jingo cantered along. Jarrod enjoyed the crisp scents of fall, glad he’d been able to rearrange his schedule so he could join his brothers on fall roundup. Nick might tease him about his lily white hands and Heath would just smile that lopsided grin of his and tell him he did enough work for the family at his office, but Jarrod knew his brothers appreciated the fact he still liked to get involved with the working side of the ranch. He didn’t do it often, but rounding up the herd that was soon to be driven to market, eating out of the chuckwagon and just sitting around the fire after a hard day’s work, sharing a bottle of whiskey and enjoying each other’s company was exactly the kind of break he was craving._

 _The lawyer was looking forward to the next several days when he heard the load crack of a gunshot, followed by a searing pain in his temple. He fell out of the saddle and the last thing he remembered was more pain as a heavy booted foot connected with his ribs before smashing into his face._

With a sinking feeling, Jarrod knew no one was going to realize he was missing for at least a week. His mother and Audra thought he was out with his brothers and Nick and Heath probably figured he wasn’t able to shuffle his court dates for an upcoming trial and was stuck in town.

No, there was no rescue from outside coming soon and as he pulled again on the strap binding him, Jarrod knew he only had himself to rely on and wondered if that would be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

A sharp pain woke Jarrod when his hair was grabbed, his head pulled up abruptly and he realized he must have passed out at some point. He choked when water was poured into his parched mouth and he tried to swallow as much as he could before the canteen was taken away, his head released to fall against the post.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jarrod caught movement and a small flame blossomed at the edge of his vision. A rough grip dragged him to his feet and the wood scraping his chest and the rush of blood back into his legs made him want to scream out loud. But Jarrod maintained his silence, not wanting to give his captor the satisfaction, and clenched his teeth until the pain went away.

With a hard jerk, the remains of Jarrod’s shirt were torn away and he tried not to flinch as the other ran his hand over his back, but he was unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion.

“Such pretty, smooth skin,” his captor murmured. “It’s almost a shame to mark it up. Almost, but not quite.”

This time, Jarrod did cry out at the scorching pain and gagged on the smell of his own burning flesh.

“Not as tidy as a branding iron,” the other informed him as Jarrod bit his lip, tasting blood when his back was seared again, “but it does the trick.”

Jarrod tried to brace himself against the pain, but there was no way to prepare for the agony of the repeated burning with what must have been some kind of iron rod. He remembered the scar one of the Barkley hands carried on his arm from the slipping of a branding iron a few years back and tried not to think of what the hot metal was doing to his skin.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard a clang as the rod was tossed to the ground and he sagged against the post in relief. His back still felt like it was on fire, but with no new application, it was bearable. Barely.

But his respite was short lived. Jarrod’s pants were unfastened and jerked down around his knees. The sharp crack of a whip was followed by a thin stripe of pain and Jarrod flinched as the leather bit into his abused back and started a new agony. Stoically, he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the hot trickle of blood down his back and arms, counting the lashes until the pain clouded his mind at twenty-three and he started to lose consciousness with every new stroke.

Cold water dashed on his face deprived Jarrod of blissful oblivion. “No, no,” the other chided, “I need you awake to appreciate this.”

A hand roughly swiped against his back, sliding over the blood-slick skin. Jarrod tensed and struggled, but his pants around his knees effectively hobbled him as the hand slipped between his buttocks and smeared his ass further with blood.

 _This can’t be happening,_ Jarrod tried to tell himself as he felt a hardness press between his clenched cheeks, _there’s no way…_ Then Jarrod experienced an excruciating pain, a white-hot agony between his legs that threatened to rip him in half. He couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping his throat as the other used the slickness of his own blood to force his way inside. He’d felt pain before, but nothing could compare to the hell he was going through at that moment. Jarrod gritted his teeth and tried to pull away as the other impaled him ruthlessly on his cock. He felt fingers dig into his hips to hold him and the other’s hard sex started thrusting viciously into Jarrod’s ass.

“Oh god,” the other groaned as he slammed himself brutally into Jarrod again and again, the hurt growing more intense with each shove, “you’re a better fuck than that whore I had last night.”

Jarrod closed his eyes tightly, powerless to stop it as the rape went on. He was unable to prevent tears from leaking out and forced back the bile that rose in his throat when he felt a pulsing through the pain inside him. He stopped himself from retching at the sounds of pleasure coming from the other’s throat and every short sharp jab of climax stabbed into him with a new agony. He shuddered when the other eventually withdrew and wished he could believe the warmth trickling down the inside of his thighs was his blood and not the something else he knew it had to be.

A hand trailed across his cheek. “And we get to enjoy that again and again, my little whore,” the other crooned. Jarrod struggled for breath when the hand fastened itself around his throat and squeezed. “I’ve heard that the best is to cum inside someone just at the moment of their death. I think we’ll have to try it. Eventually.”

Jarrod slipped back to his knees as the hand released him. He heard the door open and close and this time he was unable to prevent the meagre contents of his stomach from coming back up. His mind threatened to get caught up in a spiral of shame and agony, fuelled by the pain that promised to rip him inside out, but he forced it down and tried again to pull out of his bonds.

Not ready to admit defeat, Jarrod was afraid he might lose his battle against the impending blackness encroaching on his mind when he felt his right hand slip. Glancing down, he saw a rivulet of blood on his wrist from a lash that had caught his upper arm. He pulled and pulled, but the blood and sweat stretching the leather and making it somewhat slick wasn’t quite enough. Then Jarrod caught the inside of his arm on a rough snag of the post he was tied to and caused another trickle of blood to run down his arm. With fresh determination, Jarrod steeled himself against the pain and began rubbing the already tender flesh of his wrist against the snag, making it more slippery as he tried to catch the leather thong as well. He knew there was a chance of tearing an artery and bleeding to death, but whether he escaped or died, either outcome was acceptable. All that mattered was an end to the torment and to make sure the other didn’t do that to him again.

Pain lanced up his arm as Jarrod alternately rubbed and pulled and finally he felt something give with an excruciating snap. He’d been pulling so hard that he fell over backwards and bit back a scream as his abused back and buttocks hit the ground. Jarrod lay on the floor and tried to catch his breath before he crawled to his feet and dragged his pants over his hips. He fumbled with the buttons and tried to ignore the agony in his hand and the smallest finger that just wouldn’t seem to move. Getting the top two fastened was all he could manage before he couldn’t make his fingers cooperate any more.

Finding the remains of his shirt, he tore off a strip and used his teeth to tie it tightly around his right wrist and staunch the bleeding. Jarrod considered untying the leather that dangled from the other side, but didn’t think he’d be able to get the knots undone so he left it alone. With every step a study in pain, Jarrod slowly made his way to the door, only to freeze when he heard movement outside.

Jarrod positioned himself behind the door. He fought down the panic and fixed a goal in his mind; to get out and get home. Preferably by ridding the world of his tormentors at the same time. Wrapping the loose end of the leather strap around his wrist and gripping it as tightly as he could manage, Jarrod waited as the door opened and he heard the voice of his captor.

“Ready to play some more, bitch?”

Jarrod pounced. He threw his arms over the other’s head and twisted the thong around his throat, pulling with all his strength. His tormentor clawed at the leather, clawed at the arms and hands holding it, but Jarrod hung on as his need for vengeance overwhelmed the pain. He managed to hold tight until the other went limp and his body keeled over and dragged Jarrod with it. Jarrod didn’t release his grip until his hand wouldn’t take anymore and opened of its own volition.

He rolled off to look at the body on the floor, at the blue lips and unseeing eyes staring blankly and felt sick. He’d killed men before, in war and to save his own life and the lives of others, but never in vengeance or so personally with his own hands. _This was justified,_ he told himself, _and vengeance or not, it was in self-defence._

Jarrod rose shakily to his feet. His head spun, from fatigue, from lack of food and blood loss, but he resolutely put one foot in front of the other and made his way outside. He shivered as the cool night air hit the bare skin of his chest, but it was a blessing against the fire on his back. He briefly considered taking the other’s shirt, but even if he could make himself touch the man to get it off, which he doubted, the fabric against his flayed back would probably make things worse.

Hearing an uneasy snort, Jarrod turned to see a bay horse tethered to a nearby tree. He approached it slowly, murmuring as the horse shifted restlessly at the scent of blood.

“Easy, boy. You and I, we’re going to be friends, all right?”

The horse tossed its head, but held still as Jarrod gathered the reins and painfully pulled himself into the saddle.

As he nudged the bay into a walk, Jarrod began to wonder if riding was such a good idea. The saddle was hard against his abused backside and Jarrod broke into a sweat as the pain intensified. He clutched the saddle horn tightly. Maybe he should get off and walk, he thought more than once and the choice was taken out of his hands a few miles later as he lost his hold on consciousness and tumbled from the horse’s back to the hard ground below.


	3. 3

The horses loped along at any easy pace.

“Be good to get home,” Heath commented. “Y’know, after a year or so of that soft bed and Silas’ cooking, reckon I might be getting soft.”

Nick snorted. “The day you get soft is the day I trade this ranch for an office in town.” He shook his head slowly as he thought of the brother who did have an office in town. “Sure wish Jarrod had been able to make it. We just don’t get to see enough of him lately.”

“Well, big brother has a lot of responsibilities,” Heath observed, “but I know he was hoping to join us. It sure doesn’t hurt him to get out from behind that desk now and then.”

“That is a fact, Heath,” Nick agreed. “Hey, this drive down to San Francisco is a short one. What do you say we convince Jarrod to come along and he can treat us to dinner in the city when we’re done?”

“Sounds like a plan, Nick.” Heath spotted the ranch buildings in the distance. “First one home gets all the hot water.” He kicked Charger in the sides and the big bay surged forward, leaving Nick in his dust.

“Hey, no fair!” Nick protested and urged Coco into a gallop.

The two cowboys thundered up to the barn and both dismounted in one fluid motion.

“I don’t know if it’s the horse or rider getting old,” Heath teased as they unsaddled. “I’m sure Charger and I beat you by, what, at least three lengths?”

“Not more’n a nose,” Nick insisted, “and you wouldn’t have beat us at all if you hadn’t gotten that head start.”

The good natured banter carried on as they rubbed down the horses before turning them out into the paddock with Jarrod’s sorrel and they continued teasing each other all the way into the house.

They took off their hats and were removing their gunbelts when Victoria swept into the room. “Nick, Heath, it’s good to have you home.” She greeted them each with a kiss on the cheek. “And where’s your brother?”

“Jarrod? Haven’t seen him,” Nick answered in an offhand fashion.

“Saw Jingo outside,” Heath added, “we thought he was home.”

Victoria’s face grew pale. “Jarrod left Jingo here when he headed out to join you five days ago,” she said slowly. “He came up lame on the way back from town and Jarrod took that big appaloosa instead. He was looking forward to meeting you for roundup.”

“Mother, Jarrod didn’t come out to the roundup,” Nick replied and a concerned look grew on his face. He and Heath shared a glance. “We thought he wasn’t able to change that court date.”

Victoria’s hand flew to her mouth. “You mean Jarrod didn’t join you?” she whispered in horror.

“And since he’s not here, that means he’s been missing for five days,” Heath concluded, worry on his face as well. “C’mon, Nick, the men will all be coming in. Let’s get some search parties out there.”

“Yeah.” Nick snagged his hat and gunbelt as Heath did the same. He put an arm around Victoria. “We’ll find him, Mother. Jarrod’s got to be out there somewhere.” But they all knew five days was a long time and they all knew it would take a miracle to bring their son and brother home safely.

*

Victoria jumped as she heard the door slam and turned to see Nick grimly stripping off his gloves. It had been dark for over an hour and it had taken all of her willpower to stay at home and wait for some kind of word instead of saddling a horse to join the search.

Nick stalked over to the drinks table to pour a large measure of whiskey and tossed it back in one gulp. “Nothing. No sign of Jarrod or the horse. It was getting too dark, reckoned we might miss something if we kept at it.” He turned to see the worried expression on Victoria’s face and took three big steps to enfold her in his arms. “We’ll find him, Mother, I promise,” he whispered into her hair. “We won’t stop looking. Heath went into town to let Fred know, we figure Champ’s a distinctive enough horse that someone might remember seeing him. And Jarrod.”

Victoria clung to her tall son, fighting back tears. “I’m scared, Nick,” she admitted. “I’m so worried, thinking Jarrod might be…” She choked on the words, unable to say them.

“He’s not dead, Mother,” Nick insisted firmly. “I’d know it if he was. He’s out there, somewhere. We just have to keep hoping and praying.”

Victoria nodded and tried to take comfort in Nick’s strong embrace. _Please, God, let Jarrod be safe. Please bring my son back to me._


	4. 4

“Ma, the man’s got blood all over…”

“Jake, go find your father…”

“Easy, now, we’ll get you inside…”

“Hold on, this is going to hurt…”

“Drink a little of this…”

“Try to lie still…”

“It’s going to be okay…”

He heard snatches of conversation. He felt his cheek pillowed on something soft and cried out when the fire in his back suddenly intensified. He tried to get away as firm hands held him down, choked when a bitter taste was trickled between his lips and sagged in relief as his head and neck were bathed with coolness. He floated in limbo for how long he couldn’t be sure and finally came back to himself with a soft breeze kissing his forehead and the chirping of a songbird from somewhere not far away.

Jarrod groaned as his back protested strongly when he tried to move. He hurt; oh, god, how he hurt, but it wasn’t nearly the searing agony of before. He opened his eyes to see a white curtain floating lazily over an open window and wondered where he was. Rolling over, he levered himself to a sitting position and grimaced at the pain the movement caused. Glancing down, he saw his torso was swathed in bandages, another dressing covered his wrist and hand and he lifted the other hand to his head to find that bandaged as well.

The door creaked open. Jarrod’s heart raced in fear as he automatically shrank back against the bedframe and wondered if he’d be able to make it out the window.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

Jarrod took a deep breath to steady himself at the soft voice. There was no need to panic, he was in a bright and cozy room, not back in that dark, dusty barn.

The dark-haired woman placed the tray she was carrying on the table at the side of the bed. Jarrod flinched and then steadied himself as she placed a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Your fever’s come down,” she said with a smile. “Do you feel you can eat something? I brought some broth in case you were up and feeling hungry.”

Jarrod forced a smile as she placed a pillow behind him and chastised himself for the panic he was feeling. He was obviously in this woman’s home and was just as obviously not being threatened.

“How long have I been here?” he asked slowly.

“Five days.” She moved, moving the tray to balance on his lap. “You were in pretty bad shape. The doctor wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

The savoury aroma of the broth made Jarrod’s stomach rumble. He reached for the spoon, but couldn’t make his hand co-operate to hold it properly. The woman took it from him and scooped up a spoonful.

“The doctor said it might take a while for you to get full use of your hand back,” she told him with a kind smile, noting the uncomfortable expression on Jarrod’s face. “Considering what it must have taken for you to get yourself to our doorstep, I don’t think you have any reason to be embarrassed at accepting a little bit of help.”

Jarrod smiled ruefully. “I suppose not,” he admitted. “And I’m extremely grateful for everything you’ve done, Mrs…” He trailed off, waiting for her to supply her name.

“Morgan. Elizabeth Morgan.” She spooned some broth into his mouth. “And your name is…?

“Jarrod. Jarrod Barkley.”

Mrs. Morgan paused in surprise. “Barkley? Of Stockton?”

Jarrod nodded and accepted another spoonful. “Yes. I take it you’ve heard of my family.”

“I think everyone in Knight’s Ferry has heard of your family, Mr. Barkley,” she told him.

Jarrod’s stomach started to feel queasy after another spoonful and he declined more broth with a shake of his head. “I don’t think I can eat any more. And, please, it’s Jarrod.”

“And you can call me Liz.” She looked as if she was going to argue his refusal, but didn’t say anything and just returned the tray to the bedside table. Hearing hoofbeats in the yard, she turned to the door. “That’s probably the doctor. He’d said he’d be by to see how you were doing. I’m sure he’d be happy to send a message to your family and tell them where you are.” Liz took the tray with her as she left the room and Jarrod sagged against the pillow in relief. He didn’t know why he felt so uneasy with her in the room, but for some reason he did.

The door opened again to admit Liz and a genial looking man who Jarrod assumed to be the doctor and again Jarrod had to fight down a surge of fear.

“Well, Mr. Barkley,” the man said as he set his bag down and pulled out his watch, grabbing Jarrod’s good hand to take his pulse, “it’s mighty good to see you among the living.”

Jarrod managed a tight smile and took a deep breath as the doctor continued speaking.

“When I first saw you after Liz’s husband told me there was an injured man at his place, I have to admit I didn’t think much of your chances. You were running a high fever and I think there were more wounds on your back than intact skin.”

Jarrod started sweating at the remembered pain of those wounds being caused. He tensed as the doctor placed hands on his shoulders to turn him and have a look at his back.

“I don’t see anything staining the bandages, so I’m going to leave them alone right now,” he pronounced. “How does your head feel?”

“A little sore,” Jarrod admitted quietly.

“How about your vision? Any blurring or spots?”

Jarrod shook his head. “No. That seems fine.”

The doctor picked up Jarrod’s right arm. “Can you make a fist?”

Jarrod tried and hissed in pain as he managed to curl his thumb and first three fingers. The last finger moved only slightly.

“Some of the tendons in your wrist were damaged,” the doctor informed him, “and the one for your little finger was completely severed. I repaired it as best I could, but I can’t give you any guarantees of how much function will come back. I take it you’re right handed?”

Jarrod nodded and the doctor shook his head. “Well, try to use it as little as possible for the next couple weeks. You don’t want any of the other tendons to rupture. Then start slowly, moving it as much as possible without straining it. It will improve, I just can’t say how much.”

Jarrod closed his eyes as he absorbed the information. “I’m sure you did what you could.”

The doctor patted him on the shoulder and Jarrod flinched. “Sorry, I should’ve remembered how sore you still must be.” Jarrod didn’t bother to correct him; for some reason it was the contact itself that made him tense, not so much the pain. “There was a fairly deep burn on your left shoulder,” the doctor added, “it went into the muscle a ways. Try to move it as much as you can so the scar tissue doesn’t tighten up too much.”

As he gathered his things, the doctor said, “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Liz said you might want me to send a message to your family?”

“I’d just like to let them know I’m all right and that I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Jarrod told him. “I don’t have any money on me, but I can pay you for the wire and your services as soon as I can get to a bank.”

The doctor chuckled as he made his way to the door. “Don’t worry, Mr. Barkley. Your family’s well known enough around here that your credit is good. And I think the sheriff will be relieved to find out your identity.”

“The sheriff?” Jarrod asked cautiously as his mind brought back the bulging eyes of the man he’d killed.

“Seems a body was found in an abandoned barn ten miles or so from here.” The doctor’s words confirmed Jarrod’s uneasy suspicion. “And you, showing up in the condition you were in… well, I’ll let Matt know who you are and that you’re able to talk. I’m sure he’ll be out later and I’ll be back tomorrow, like I said. Liz,” he acknowledged as he left the room.

Liz turned back to Jarrod. “Is there anything you need?” she asked.

“No. Just… a little peace and quiet, maybe.” His stomach was starting to hurt from the tension.

“All right. But I won’t be far. Just call if you need something.”

Jarrod nodded. “I don’t think I’ve said it yet,” he added before she left the room, “but I’m much obliged for the hospitality and care you’ve shown me.”

Liz smiled at him and shut the door behind her. Jarrod closed his eyes and tried to slow the racing of his heart. He needed to get out of there, but right now, with his weakened state, that just wasn’t possible. He dreaded the upcoming visit from the sheriff, but couldn’t see any way to avoid it.

It was just the pain that was making him jumpy, Jarrod told himself, that and the knowledge that Ben Coulter was still out there to pose a threat to himself and his family. He didn’t doubt that the unscrupulous man would stop at nothing to exact his revenge and, retribution for what had been done to him aside, Jarrod couldn’t leave him free to harm anyone else.

As soon as he was able, he’d track the man down, Jarrod vowed, and stop him. By any means necessary.

*

Matt Warren, the sheriff of Knight’s Ferry, made his promised visit later that afternoon. The middle-aged lawman shook Jarrod’s hand enthusiastically when they were introduced and didn’t notice the other man’s discomfort.

“I have to say, it’s pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barkley, especially under the circumstances.” At Jarrod’s puzzled expression, he took off his hat and sat on the chair beside the bed. “It seems a man was found dead, strangled by the looks of things.”

Jarrod nodded warily, unsure of where the sheriff was going.

“His name was Jed Parker. He was kind of…” The sheriff’s expression turned uncomfortable. “Well, kind of a sadistic bastard, I guess you could say. People around here were mighty scared of him and there were rumours… Never could make any charges stick against him, no one was brave enough to come forward.” He shook his head slightly. “Seeing the shape you turned up here in, and finding him dead like he was…” Sheriff Warren looked over at Jarrod. “I reckon you had something to do with it, like killing him in self-defence. The town’ll sleep easier at night, Mr. Barkley, thanks to you.”

“I don’t need anyone’s thanks, Sheriff,” Jarrod said quietly. He wondered uneasily if the sheriff had any idea what Parker actually did to him and was still troubled by the knowledge he’d killed a man with his bare hands.

The sheriff nodded and replaced his hat on his head. “The way I see it, it was kinda like putting down a rabid dog. If you need anything while you’re here, Mr. Barkley, just let me know.” He moved towards the door and then turned as he pulled a paper from his pocket. “Almost forgot.” He handed the paper to Jarrod. “Doc sent a wire to Stockton and this came back just as I left. It’s good to have people who care.”

Jarrod unfolded the message as the sheriff left.

 

October 8, 1873

To Jarrod Barkley, Knight’s Ferry, CA

From Nick Barkley, Stockton, CA

Jarrod -stop- Riding out first thing in the morning -stop- Glad you’re ok -stop- Nick -end message.

 

Jarrod started trembling. Nick would want details, would expect Jarrod to tell him what happened and Jarrod wasn’t sure he could do that. He also knew Nick would either try to talk him out of going after Coulter or insist on coming with him. Crumpling the message in his left hand, Jarrod tried to think of what he should do. He wasn’t ready to ride out yet but he wasn’t ready to face anyone he knew. Taking a breath to steady his nerves, he told himself to wait, to take some time to think. Nick wouldn’t be here until late tomorrow at the earliest, which left some time for him to come up with what to do.

Jarrod grabbed the pillow, carefully lay down on his side and closed his eyes. Right now what he needed most was rest. He’d decide what to do later.


	5. Chapter 5

Jarrod bolted upright. His shoulder throbbed in pain at the sudden movement and he gulped in large breaths of air to try and dismiss the pain and panic the nightmare caused. Oh, god, he’d been back there in that barn, his captor pressed up against him…

Jarrod forced his eyes to stay open, to take in the sights of the comfortable room and banish the images that threatened to overwhelm him. _He’s dead,_ the lawyer told himself, _you killed him yourself. It’s over._

But it wasn’t over. Ben Coulter, who’d solicited the services of Jed Parker, was still out there, still able to unleash who knew what other sorts of evil on he and his family and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until Coulter was stopped. Carefully, slowly, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the headboard with his left hand, Jarrod pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying until he got his balance. His muscles protested as he walked cautiously over to the window, but he made it with only a little difficulty.

The sun was just starting to spread its rays over the horizon. Jarrod could hear the songs of waking birds, horses shuffling in a nearby corral and the unmistakable sound of someone in the house stoking the stove and getting ready for the day. He ran a hand through his hair before pulling on his cleaned pants that were draped over the back of a chair. Taking a deep breath, Jarrod opened the door and stepped out into the kitchen.

Liz Morgan looked up from the coffeepot she’d just put on the stove. “And just what are you doing out of bed?” she demanded.

Jarrod managed a ghost of his usually brilliant smile. “Couldn’t sit still any longer,” he told her. He looked self-consciously down at his bandaged torso. “I wonder if you might have a shirt I can borrow?”

Liz wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll grab you one of my husband’s.” She went over to a basket beside the fireplace and pulled out a grey shirt. “I just finished mending it,” she said as she handed it to Jarrod who pulled it on carefully. It was a bit tight across the shoulders, but, mindful of the ceaseless ache in his back and shoulders and the pain in his hand, he managed to fumble the buttons closed.

“I’m much obliged. If I can get a ride or borrow a horse after breakfast, I’ll head to town so I can repay my debt to your family.”

Liz opened her mouth as if to protest and then stopped and shook her head when she saw the determined look on Jarrod’s face. “My husband and son had to head out early and they won’t be back until late, but I suppose you can borrow a horse.” She gave him a stern look as she pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. “You really need to let yourself rest a few more days.”

Shaking his head, Jarrod looked down at the coffee cup. “I need to get moving. There are some things…” He paused and his hand tightened around the cup. “Some things I have to take care of.”

After a quick breakfast, Liz reluctantly showed him where the tack was kept and she helped him saddle the roan gelding. It wasn’t the easiest task with his shoulder throbbing and his right hand barely useful, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done those things injured and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

Going into the barn to ready the horse had taken every ounce of willpower he contained and he didn’t realize how stifling the small house felt until he got outside. Even though it hurt like hell to be in the saddle, Jarrod felt an immense rush of release as he mounted and loped off towards town. He took deep breaths of the fresh air and enjoyed the wind on his face, for a brief time able to push back the dark memories that had taken up residence in his mind.

That was, until he reached town. Knight’s Ferry was a boomtown just waking up for the day and the scurry of people going about their business made Jarrod’s skin crawl. He resolutely guided his mount to the front of the bank. _I just need a gun, a hat and a shirt that fits properly,_ he told himself, coming up with a rational excuse for his unease. _And send out a couple wires to see if I can locate Coulter._ Straightening his shoulders and ignoring the pain, Jarrod walked into the bank.

Several hours later, Jarrod was thankful to be on his way. While waiting for replies to his queries on Coulter’s whereabouts, he’d purchased a horse and supplies, paid the doctor and left a message for Nick. The doctor tried to talk him out of leaving, but Jarrod was adamant. He needed to find Ben Coulter before the former judge could harm anyone else. Finally, a reply came back, placing Coulter in Plymouth, up near Sacramento. Jarrod briefly stopped at the Morgan farm to return the shirt and horse and leave some money for their kindness in taking care of him before heading out on his mission to stop Ben Coulter once and for all.

*

Nick Barkley was frustrated. The clerk at the hotel in Knight’s Ferry hadn’t heard of Jarrod and the doctor who’d sent the telegram was away from his office. Glaring at the sign on the door that read, “Back soon”, the tall rancher considered where he should go next. He moved to the edge of the sidewalk and surveyed the town before his eyes lit on another sign. Quickly striding across the street, Nick walked into the sheriff’s office.

The older man looked up from the stack of papers on the desk. “Can I help you, stranger?”

“Name’s Nick Barkley.” Nick was gratified by the look of recognition that came with his name. “I’m looking for my brother Jarrod.”

The sheriff stood up and shook Nick’s hand energetically. “Matt Warren, Mr. Barkley. It sure is good to meet you. Can’t tell you how much I admire your brother’s strength and courage.”

Nick leaned against the desk. “Well, now, I wouldn’t mind hearing what happened and where I can find him. All I got was a message from the doc saying he’d been hurt and was going to be okay.”

“Don’t really know all the details,” Sheriff Warren said as he headed over to the small stove and picked up the pot there. “Coffee?” Nick shook his head and the sheriff poured himself a cup before continuing. “All I know is he tangled with one of the most evil snakes this country had to offer and got pretty tore up before he killed the bastard. Dragged himself quite a ways before someone found him, Doc wasn’t sure that he was going to make it. I would’ve contacted you sooner, but we didn’t know your brother’s name until he was able to tell us yesterday.” Warren sipped his coffee. “The Morgans found him. He was staying out at their place, but I heard he left town earlier.”

“Left town?” Nick couldn’t believe his ears. “Where the devil would he have gone? Didn’t he get the wire I was coming?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Gave him the message myself. I thought he might’ve headed out to meet you. But maybe talk to Doc Carter. Your brother might’ve stopped in to see him before he left.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Nick grumbled as he left the office. Luck was with him when he went back to the doctor’s office, as the physician was just unlocking his door. Pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, Dr. Carter eyed Nick closely.

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked as opened the door and went inside, moving out of the way so Nick could follow.

“I’m looking for my brother, Jarrod Barkley,” Nick said shortly. “Heard tell you might have talked to him.”

The doctor threw his keys onto the desk and took off his hat. “I sure did. Let me tell you, Mr. Barkley, your brother is one of the most stubborn, mule-headed men I’ve ever had the pleasure to run across. I recommended he stay put for a little longer, but he wouldn’t listen. Just paid my fee and left a note for you, as long as you’re Nick Barkley.”

Nick couldn’t contain a chuckle at Dr. Carter’s description of Jarrod, a description that was usually reserved for he and Heath, rather than their more cool-headed older brother. He took the folded paper handed to him and read the terse two-sentence message.

 

Nick,

Have some things to take care of. I’ll be in touch.

Jarrod

 

Nick stared at the note, unable to reconcile the untidy scrawl with his older brother’s elegant copperplate script. “Are you positive Jarrod Barkley gave you this message? It doesn’t look like his writing to me.”

The doctor sighed. “Sit down, Mr. Barkley.” He indicated a nearby chair and sat in another. Nick reluctantly sat down. “The man who wrote this, who said he was Jarrod Barkley from Stockton, is about six feet tall, reasonably well-built, with dark hair and blue eyes. He also has a prominent birthmark just above his left wrist. Does that describe your brother?” Nick nodded slowly and the doctor continued. “Mr. Barkley, I didn’t tell your brother to stay put for a while lightly. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s alive, much less able to ride out of here.”

A knot of anxiety formed in Nick’s stomach, the same knot he’d felt when he received the doctor’s wire telling him that Jarrod had been injured. “Tell me, doc,” he insisted. “Tell me exactly what happened to my brother.”

“Well, I shouldn’t say anything,” Dr. Carter started slowly, “but seeing as how you’re his brother, I think you should know how serious his injuries actually are. The reason you don’t recognize his handwriting is because he had to write that note left-handed. His right wrist was tore up pretty bad. Severed a tendon, damaged some others, making it hard for him to use that hand. It looked like he’d been restrained somehow, which fits with his other injuries.”

The doctor paused and Nick growled, “Spit it out, Doc. This is my brother we’re talking about. I need to know.”

“He has some broken ribs and a half-healed head wound, likely from a bullet graze. But the worst, aside from his wrist, is his back. He was burned repeatedly with what might have been a branding iron and then whipped. I counted at least twenty lashes, but with the amount of damage, it could have been more.” The doctor fixed Nick with a serious gaze. “He was half-dead from fever and blood loss when he stumbled onto the Morgans’ farm. Turns out he’d come over ten miles after killing the animal who did that to him.”

Nick was stunned speechless. He’d known it would be bad, with Jarrod turning up almost fifty miles from where he was supposed to be and the comments from the sheriff, but the doctor’s recitation of Jarrod’s injuries floored him. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what sort of torment his big brother went through and suddenly wished it were Heath who was there and him the one taking the cattle to San Francisco. Even though he didn’t talk about it, Nick knew that Heath’s incarceration in Carterson as a prisoner of war would give him an understanding that Nick would thankfully never have. He felt guilty, being grateful for that. He’d been there when Heath’s nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and it tore at his heart that his brother had to live through that sort of hell, and now it seemed his other brother had been through a similar ordeal.

“Do you know where he went?”

Dr. Carter shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. All he said was he had something he had to take care of. Maybe he told the Morgans more. Their farm’s about five miles west of town.” He rose when Nick got to his feet. “I hope you find him. He’s in no shape to be riding out on his own, whatever it is that he needs to do.”

“Yeah.” Nick shook the doctor’s hand before leaving to find his horse and head out to the Morgan farm.

Liz Morgan had no other information for him and Nick left the farm no closer to finding Jarrod. He rode back to town under a cloud of frustration, not used to being helpless and hating the feeling. The hotel clerk quickly handed over the key when Nick growled for it and several patrons quickly busied themselves as he stomped up the stairs. He threw the key and his hat on the bed and paced to the window, looking out briefly before turning and striding across the room in a restless circle, back to the window then back to the door. What the devil had happened to Jarrod? Who would have wanted to imprison and torture his older brother? And more importantly right now, where the hell was he and what the devil was he doing?


	6. Chapter 6

Hands roamed across his back and grabbed his hips painfully. _Oh, god, no,_ he thought in terror and his heart raced in fear as he felt the hard tip of the other’s penis push against his ass. _Not again, please, God, not again._

Jarrod sat up, his body drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he took in huge gulps of air and his half-healed ribs protested the sudden movement. He drew his knees tightly to his chest and tried to calm the uncontrollable shaking of his body. _Just a nightmare,_ he told himself harshly, _just another goddamned nightmare._ But he couldn’t banish the crawling feeling across his skin and convinced himself it was just discomfort from his slowly healing back.

The lawyer dragged himself to his feet and made his way to the nearby stream. The icy water he splashed on his face helped him regain a measure of control over his mind and body and he frowned at the pain in his right hand when he automatically slicked back his wet hair. Regarding the hand grimly, Jarrod slowly tried to make a fist. In spite of the doctor’s best efforts, his little finger still only moved slightly and Jarrod sighed in frustration. Combined with the limited range of motion in his left shoulder, he knew that realistically he shouldn’t be chasing down a clearly ruthless and dangerous man by himself. He knew he should have waited back in Knight’s Ferry for Nick and let his brother either help him or talk him out of going after Coulter. But he’d made his choice, for good or for ill, and maybe, just maybe, taking care of Coulter might banish the nightmares for once and for all.

Jarrod resolutely trudged back to his camp as the eastern horizon started to glow and patted the nose of the chestnut horse who whickered a greeting. “How about some water, fella?” He untied the horse, led him to the stream and tethered him to some nearby bushes where the gelding could browse along the bank after drinking his fill. Grabbing the small coffeepot, Jarrod filled it and placed it on the still smouldering coals of his fire. Then he picked up his rifle and gunbelt and walked a short distance away.

Jarrod set the gunbelt at his feet and hefted the rifle. There was no way he could work it with his injured right hand, so he loosely gripped the barrel in his right instead and braced it against his left shoulder as he sighted the trunk of a dead tree. Awkwardly levering the bolt with his left hand, he squeezed the trigger, gritted his teeth against the pain of the recoil against his shoulder, readjusted his aim and chambered another round as his shot missed the target. His next shot managed to take a chunk out of the edge of the tree, but after a third shot also went wide, Jarrod lowered the rifle in frustration. He just couldn’t work the lever fast enough with his left and his shoulder was aching fiercely, not to mention his abysmal aim.

Jarrod put the rifle on the ground and pulled his pistol out of the holster. He first tried firing right-handed, but the pain and weakness made the bullet fly wide as he clumsily squeezed the trigger. Switching to his left hand, his aim was marginally better. He found if he braced the barrel of the gun in his right while firing with his left, he was almost as accurate as he was before his injury. The gun’s recoil still caused his shoulder to ache, but he could live with that. The only other problem was that he’d bought a right-handed belt and he certainly couldn’t draw from that side with his hand the way it was. Even if the holster was on the left, Jarrod wasn’t sure he would be able to manage a left-handed draw with any speed without a lot more practice. Pushing the gun into the waistband of his pants with the handle facing left was the best option he could think of.

Carrying the gunbelt and rifle back to the fire, Jarrod poured a cup of coffee. The strong smell turned his stomach as he sipped it slowly and he forced down the nausea that threatened to bring it back up when he nibbled at a piece of hardtack. He knew he should eat more; his healing body needed all the energy he could give it, but his appetite had been less than non-existent and it was all he could do to choke down enough to keep him going.

Jarrod used the rest of the coffee to douse the fire as he tidied up the campsite. Then he saddled his horse and rode off on his mission to Plymouth and his confrontation with Ben Coulter.

*

Nick ended up getting a few snatches of sleep after pacing around his hotel room for what seemed like hours. The small room felt like a prison, but Nick didn’t venture out. He knew that in his current mood he’d likely end up in the thick of a bar brawl and probably spend a few days behind bars for starting it. That wouldn’t do his missing brother any good so Nick prowled from one side to the other until he grew worn out enough to sleep, only to rise to the sounds of the awakening town.

Stretching his tall frame, Nick donned his boots and gunbelt, slapped his Stetson on his head and went out for a quick breakfast while he decided what his next move should be. He debated sending a wire home, but the little he knew would be more worrying than nothing at all. Hopefully, the lack of a message would just make Mother and Audra think he was on his way home with Jarrod and buy him a day or two until they started growing concerned for him as well.

Nick shovelled in his breakfast, not even tasting it and was downing a last cup of coffee when a nervous looking young man approached his table.

“Are you… are you Nick Barkley?” he asked hesitantly, as if he expected the rancher to jump up and bite him.

“That’s me.” Nick wondered why the youth was looking for him.

The young man tentatively held out a yellow piece of paper. “Telegram just came in for you, sir.”

“Thanks.” Nick grabbed the paper and reached into his pocket for a coin to give the messenger. The other man took the money and scurried off in obvious relief as Nick opened the telegram.

> October 10, 1877
> 
> To Nick Barkley, Knight’s Ferry, CA
> 
> From Sheriff Fred Madden, Stockton, CA
> 
> Horse reported in Plymouth matching description -stop- Barkley brand -end message

 

Nick tucked the paper in his pocket and threw some money on the table before going to pack up his things before heading north to follow the only lead he had.


	7. Chapter 7

Zack shivered as he was handed a gold eagle. The cold blue eyes staring out of the haggard unshaven face in front of him were hard and forbidding and Zack was grateful for two things. The first was that it was a bright sunny day and this dark man with the menacing voice wasn’t confronting him in the shadows of a dim alley. The second was that he knew the answer to the question he’d just been asked and even though he’d normally be reluctant to give out the information, Zack was more scared of not giving the stranger what he wanted.

“He… he’s in his office, sir. It… it’s over the saloon, j… just down the street. Can’t miss it, sir.”

Zack clutched the coin tightly, more money than he’d usually see in over a month as the stranger headed in the indicated direction without another word. He shuddered, glad for once he was just a lowly stablehand and beneath almost everyone’s notice, not rich and powerful enough to make enemies like Ben Coulter obviously had.

*

Ben Coulter stretched back and the chair creaked under his weight as he locked the pile of bills in a desk drawer. The saloon was turning a tidy profit and the local businesses were paying their ‘insurance’ fees on time. Not as much as he took in back in Coryville, but things were looking up again. He pulled the ledger closer and began to add up the numbers.

He heard the door open and heavy footsteps enter the room. “I’m busy,” he said sharply, not looking up, “come back later.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Coulter.” The grim tone made him look up and the colour drained out of his face when his eyes encountered the visage looming over him.

“Barkley,” he whispered in disbelief.

“Surprised to see me, Coulter?” Jarrod Barkley perched himself on the edge of the desk and picked up a dagger-like letter opener. He idly turned it over in his hand.

“You’re supposed to be…”

“Dead?” Jarrod finished for him and slammed the letter opener to stand embedded in the wood of the desk. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

The edge in the deep voice and impenetrable stare made Coulter’s belly clench in fear. Parker was supposed to have killed the man and Coulter never even considered that he would fail. Jarrod Barkley was a soft, do-gooder lawyer, for heaven’s sakes! The former judge’s mouth grew dry as Jarrod leaned forward, pulled the letter opener out of the desk and slowly drew it along the side of Coulter’s face.

“Well, it didn’t work. Your hired thug is dead.” The lawyer’s voice grew softer, but no less ominous. “And now, it’s up to me to make sure you don’t cause that sort of thing to happen to anyone else.”

Coulter couldn’t breathe, paralyzed by the sharp implement and the threat in the grim-faced man’s tone. _I’m Ben Coulter,_ he wanted to yell, _I’m in charge of this town and you’re nothing! Less than nothing!_ But fear coursed through him as the cold metal slid down to rest against the side of his neck and when he felt a wet warmth soak the front of his pants, Ben Coulter surrendered the last of his dignity.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged shamelessly, closing his eyes, “I’ll give you whatever you want, just name it. There’s money in my desk…”

The letter opener clattered to the desk and Coulter slowly opened his eyes. The sinister cast on Jarrod’s face had been replaced with one of complete disgust. “Just stay away from my family, Coulter,” he warned, “if I hear you’ve made one false move, I’ll be back. Count on it.”

Rising to his feet, Jarrod turned his back and strode to the door. Without those piercing blue eyes in front of him, Coulter quickly shook off his fear and grabbed the derringer out of the top drawer of his desk with the intent of shooting the lawyer in the back. Jarrod whirled at the sound of the drawer opening and pulled the gun from his pants. Coulter fell back as the shot echoed through the room, a surprised expression in his unseeing eyes as the red stain of his lifeblood spread across the front of his shirt.

 

Jarrod lowered the gun. When he saw the craven fear that caused the big man to wet himself, he almost laughed. Coulter had no idea what real fear was as he’d begged for his life and Jarrod found he couldn’t go through with killing him. He might be a killer, but he wasn’t a murderer; he couldn’t slit another man’s throat in cold blood no matter how despicable that man might be. But Coulter took that decision out of his hands and Jarrod felt a faint satisfaction mingled with repulsion as he gazed at the lifeless body behind the desk. He shoved the gun back through his belt and went down the stairs to the saloon. Spotting a star pinned to a well-worn leather vest, he walked up to the wearer.

“Coulter’s dead,” he said shortly, the crowd in the room making his skin crawl. “I shot him. Self defence.”

The sheriff eyed him closely. Jarrod stood his ground and fought off the urge to run. “Yep, guess it was.” The lawman turned back to his drink. “Much obliged.”

Jarrod slowly surveyed the room and none of the patrons were willing to meet his gaze. It seemed as though Ben Coulter was no more loved in Plymouth than he had been in Coryville. Squaring his shoulders, Jarrod could feel everyone turn to stare as he left the building and managed to keep his steps slow and even until he reached his horse. He swung into the saddle and urged the gelding into a slow lope until he was well out of town.

Only then did Jarrod slide off his horse, unable to keep away the panic any longer. He’d been able to manage it by travelling until he was practically falling out of the saddle, sleeping only until the nightmares woke him before setting off again. When he got to Plymouth, he’d focused solely on his goal of getting to Coulter and was able to ignore the press of people with his whole being fixed on stopping the despot. But now that it was done, the wall Jarrod built around the terror that lurked in the back of his mind crumbled.

He sank to his knees with his body shaking. He couldn’t stop it no matter how hard he tried; how could he stop something he didn’t even understand? His tormentors were dead, there was no way Parker or Coulter could threaten him, his family, or anyone else ever again. There was no reason for the crippling panic that reached out its icy hand and squeezed his chest to make him gasp for breath. His body curled up into a ball and he wasn’t even aware of the pain when his fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm and drew blood. He huddled on the cold ground, reduced to a near stupor by the overwhelming emotions that threatened to crush him.

That was, until he felt the grip on his shoulder. With his only thought being to prevent further assault, Jarrod surged to his feet and his right fist connected with solid bone when he lashed out mindlessly. The wave of agony that lanced up his arm sent him stumbling to the ground and he scooted backwards in terror until the trunk of a tree stopped him. He then remembered the gun and grabbed it with his left hand, shakily holding it in front of him.

“Don’t come any closer,” he rasped, “or I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Jarrod?” The voice seemed familiar, but Jarrod hung on to the pistol grimly. “Jarrod, it’s me, Nick. Don’t shoot, okay?”

“N-Nick?” Jarrod whispered hesitantly and slowly lowered the gun. “Is it… is it really you?”

“Yeah, Pappy, it’s me.”

Jarrod blinked and the dark shape in front of him slowly resolved itself into the visage of his younger brother, hazel eyes full of concern. His hand shook as he dropped the gun and he felt himself enfolded into the strength of Nick’s embrace. “Oh, god, Nick,” Jarrod cried and he sobbed unashamedly into his brother’s shoulder.

“Come on, big brother,” Nick encouraged softly, “you’re hurt. Plymouth’s not far; let’s get you up and get you to a doctor.”

Violently pushing away, Jarrod shook his head. “NO!” he yelled vehemently.

“But, Jarrod…”

“No, Nick,” Jarrod said, quieter this time but no less firm. “I’m not going back there and there’s no way you can make me.”

“You’ve already been there?” Nick asked. “Did you find Champ?”

Jarrod looked up, slightly puzzled. “Champ?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, you know, the horse you were riding when…” He took a deep breath. “…when you disappeared. Fred got word he was spotted in Plymouth. That’s how I’m here.”

“Didn’t see him, Nick,” Jarrod responded curtly.

“What happened, Jarrod?” Nick demanded as he reached out to grab Jarrod’s arm. Jarrod flinched and pulled out of his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jarrod pulled himself to his feet and walked a few shaky steps away.

“Jarrod…”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!”

Nick took a step back at the fury on Jarrod’s face. “Well,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation, “I still reckon we should head to town and see about the horse. And I still think you need a doctor.”

“I’m fine, Nick!” Jarrod snapped, then his expression softened as he saw the worry and concern on his brother’s face. “I just need to go home,” he said quietly. “Go to town and see if Champ’s there, I’ll stay here and get camp set up. It’ll likely be dark by the time you return.” He reached out and squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. The coffee’ll be ready when you get back.”

“You sure?”

Jarrod nodded and Nick readjusted his hat before reluctantly gathering the reins of his nearby horse and swinging into the saddle.

“I won’t be long.”

Jarrod watched Nick as he rode towards town, took a deep breath and started to gather wood for a fire.

*

Nick rode back to where he’d left Jarrod, appaloosa in tow. Fred’s report had been right, Champ was the horse spotted in Plymouth and Nick had no problem establishing ownership of the big gelding. Especially since the man who claimed to own him was dead, shot by a stranger whose description fit his brother so well.

Ben Coulter. He’d reckoned that thieving snake would want revenge on the Barkleys for what happened in Coryville, but after several months passed, Nick figured they didn’t have anything to worry about. He didn’t have all the facts yet, but Nick was guessing Coulter hired the thug who’d beat and almost killed Jarrod and Jarrod decided to go after him. The tall rancher shook his head. At least Coulter had been found with a pistol beside him, removing the possibility that Jarrod shot the man in cold blood. Not something he would ever have said his big brother was capable of, but seeing the look in Jarrod’s eyes when he’d found him, Nick wasn’t so sure anymore.

Nick shuddered. Coming upon his brother like that, curled up and shaking on the ground, unnerved Nick more than he cared to admit. He remembered Dr. Carter’s description of Jarrod’s injuries and wished he would’ve tried harder to talk Jarrod into seeing the doctor in Plymouth. At least their mother would be able to make him see Dr. Merar when they got home. It was less than fifty miles to Stockton; if Jarrod was up to it and they pushed it with the three horses, they could be home by late tomorrow.

Ahead, he could see the faint flicker of a fire in the evening gloom. Reaching Jarrod’s bay, Nick dismounted and tethered Coco and Champ beside him, removed Coco’s tack and gave him a brisk rubdown. He tucked his bedroll under his arm, hoisted the saddle and saddlebags onto his shoulder and made his way to the fire where Jarrod was sitting. A dry stick cracked loudly under his foot. In a flash, Jarrod was on his feet, pulling his gun in an awkward left-hand draw. Nick could see him shaking and stopped.

“It’s just me, Jarrod,” he called out and tried to sound casual. “Your coffee’s good, but it ain’t good enough to have to be defended at gunpoint.” He walked closer to put down the saddle and bedroll and was relieved when he saw Jarrod tuck the gun back into his belt.

“Sorry, Nick.”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied and made a note not to startle his brother in the near future as he grabbed his cup out of his saddlebag. He poured himself some coffee from the pot that rested at the edge of the fire and reached back into the bag to pull out a bottle of amber whiskey. Moving to sit beside Jarrod, he held it out. “You look like you could use this.”

Jarrod silently lifted his cup and Nick added a generous amount. He took a large swallow. “Thanks.”

The two brothers slowly sipped their coffee in silence. It was all Nick could do not to grab Jarrod by the shoulders, shake him and demand to know what happened. But he saw the tension in the lawyer’s frame and knew that wasn’t a smart idea, so he waited until he finally had to say something.

“How’s the hand?” he asked nonchalantly as he took another drink.

Jarrod looked at him sharply and didn’t answer right away. “What do you know about it?” he said finally.

“The doc back in Knight’s Ferry told me a little,” Nick said, “and couldn’t help noticing that left-handed draw you tried. How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” Jarrod admitted slowly. He wouldn’t meet Nick’s eyes.

“What happened?”

“What did the doc tell you?”

Nick sighed. Getting information out of his reserved older brother was a challenge at the best of times and he knew Jarrod wasn’t going to give anything up easily. “That you were likely restrained when that sonuvabitch whipped you, tore up your hand pretty bad.” He watched as Jarrod tried to make a fist and winced at the pain on the other man’s face.

“I guess hitting your hard head didn’t help it any,” Jarrod told him with a ghost of a smile. “I was supposed to take it easy.”

“And instead you come haring off up here,” Nick accused, “rather than taking care of yourself. What was so all-fired important, anyway?” He’d guessed about Coulter, but he wanted to hear it from Jarrod.

Jarrod sighed. “I suppose you heard about Ben Coulter from the sheriff when you went into town.” At Nick’s nod, he continued. “It seems he was still carrying around a grudge for what happened. He hired someone to grab me and…” Jarrod’s voice faltered and he took another sip of whiskey-laced coffee, “…torture me before he killed me. I couldn’t give him the chance to come after anyone else in the family.”

“You kill both of them?”

Jarrod nodded reluctantly and Nick reached out to grab his shoulder. He couldn’t miss Jarrod’s flinch when he touched him. “Sorry,” he said, removing his hand, “Doc said how you were when he saw you. Reckon your back’s still pretty sore.”

“A little.” Jarrod swallowed the rest of his coffee and put down the cup. “We should get some sleep. If we start early enough, we might make it home before dark tomorrow.”

Nick realized he wasn’t going to get anything more out of Jarrod and nodded. He unrolled his blankets and stretched out, resting his head on his saddle, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep.

*

Jarrod sat with his knees drawn up tightly to his chest and listened to his brother’s snores. He was tempted to grab the bottle of whiskey Nick had returned to his saddlebag, but then he might actually fall asleep and he couldn’t let that happen. The nightmares were lurking not far off and even though he might snatch a little sleep before they came, he didn’t want Nick to hear. Heaven forbid anyone found out what happened to him in that barn near Knight’s Ferry. It was bad enough that Nick knew about his back and his hand, but to have him learn about… Jarrod shuddered and closed his eyes tightly. He almost drowned in the shame that threatened to take over as he tried to push back the horrific images. Things would be better once he got home, he told himself. Safe with those who loved him, he’d be able to rest and heal. Jarrod took a deep breath and waited for the first glimmer of light to show on the horizon.


	8. Chapter 8

Nick kept a close eye on his older brother. He’d asked Jarrod a couple times since lunch if he wanted to stop and continue on in the morning, but Jarrod just replied he was fine. The last time, Jarrod’s answer was full of barely controlled anger and Nick stopped asking, he just started watching more closely so he could catch Jarrod when he fell out of the saddle.

But Jarrod hung on and they rode though the gates of the ranch just before dinnertime.

“I can get off myself, Nick,” Jarrod snapped as Nick dismounted quickly and hurried to Champ’s side. Nick took a step back and clenched his fists at his sides to prevent from grabbing at Jarrod as his brother stumbled and clutched at the stirrup leather to regain his balance.

Jarrod closed his eyes tightly. His head swam and his body trembled from a combination of fatigue and stress and he knew he hadn’t been eating enough. To top it all off, Nick’s hovering had his temper on the edge of exploding. _Just need to get upstairs,_ he thought, _and lie down in my own bed._ He didn’t want to admit to needing help, didn’t want anyone close to him and touching him, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it to the house under his own power, let alone up the long flight of stairs. Slowly letting go of the stirrup, Jarrod took a shaky step, followed by another before his knees gave out and he felt Nick grab his arm and the back of his belt. He panicked and reflexively tried to break free, but he didn’t have the strength and fell against his younger brother.

“Whoa, Jarrod, take it easy,” Nick warned as he draped Jarrod’s arm around his shoulders, “just let me help you. That stubborn pride of yours’ll take more of a beating if you fall face first in the dirt.”

 _What’s wrong with you?_ Jarrod screamed at himself as he fought to regain control. _This is your brother, dammit, how many times have you helped each other into the house after an accident or a fight?_ But his primal instincts shrieked at him to run, to get away. He hung on with tooth and nail not to vocalize the words and his racing heart gradually calmed as Nick helped him up the steps and into the house.

“Mother!” Nick hollered as soon as they were through the door and Jarrod had to fight off the panic again.

“Nick, must you---?” Victoria stopped and her hand flew to her mouth as she took in the haggard appearance of her eldest son. “Jarrod, sweetheart, what happened? Are you all right?”

 _Can’t you see I’m not all right?!_ he wanted to shout, but managed a smile instead. “I’ll be fine, Mother,” he reassured her and wished he could believe it himself. “I just need a little rest, that’s all.” He closed his eyes as he endured her gentle caress on his cheek.

“You must be starving,” she said and looked him over carefully. “Would you like me to have Silas bring you up some supper?”

Jarrod started to shake his head, the thought of food revolting, but realized part of his weakened state was likely due to the fact he hadn’t eaten a good meal in days. “I don’t think I could eat a full meal, Mother,” he said reluctantly, “but maybe just a little soup if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course it’s no trouble,” she reassured him. “Nick, why don’t you take Jarrod upstairs and run him a hot bath? I’m sure a good soak will do wonders.”

“Your wish is my command, Duchess,” Nick said with mock-gallantry. “C’mon, big brother, let’s haul those tired bones of yours upstairs.”

Jarrod let Nick help him to the bathroom and start the water before chasing him out. “I can bathe myself, Nick,” he snapped and shoved his brother away as Nick started to help him with the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah, Jarrod, all right.” Nick turned as he left. “I’ll leave some clean clothes outside the door and if you need anything, just holler, okay?”

Jarrod nodded curtly and locked the door before sitting onto the edge of the tub as it filled. He used his left hand to slowly unbutton his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Regarding the dirty bandage across his torso, he realized it hadn’t been changed since he left Knight’s Ferry. Jarrod found a pair of scissors in the cabinet and managed to make his hand work enough to cut through some of the bandage so he could peel it off. He gritted his teeth when he had to tug in a few places to free it from the healing wounds.

After removing his boots and pants, Jarrod turned off the water and lowered himself into the steaming tub. He winced as the hot water stung his back before he remembered the bandage on his right wrist. Grabbing the scissors from the edge of the cabinet, he awkwardly cut through the cloth using his left hand. The skin of his arm and the back of his hand were a mottled green, yellow and red of healing bruises and lacerations and Jarrod shuddered to think of what his back must look like. Tossing the bandage onto the floor, Jarrod sank back into the tub and closed his eyes. He willed himself to relax as he wondered if he’d ever feel normal again.

 

Nick took some clean clothes out of Jarrod’s room and left them outside the bathroom door as promised before heading down the stairs. He wasn’t looking forward to his mother’s questions, questions she would insist he answer, questions he wasn’t even sure he had the answers to.

To his surprise, she wasn’t waiting for him in the parlour. He went to the table holding the crystal decanters and poured himself a large measure of whiskey. About to take a drink, he heard the door open and turned to see the stately silver-haired woman enter the house.

“I sent Ciego into town for Dr. Merar,” Victoria explained. “And you can pour me one of those as well.”

Nick silently passed his untouched drink to Victoria and poured himself another. He followed her to the sofa where they sat side by side.

“What happened up there, Nick?” she asked quietly and Nick could hear a tremor in her normally strong tone. “Jarrod looks… I don’t even know what he looks like.”

Nick put down his glass and placed an arm around her shoulders. He drew his mother close so she could rest her head against him. “I only know the basics, Mother.” He wondered how much he should tell her. Anything she might hear around town, he decided, anything further Jarrod would just have to tell himself. “Remember Coryville?” At her nod, he continued. “Ben Coulter apparently couldn’t forget, either. He hired someone to grab Jarrod and kill him. Lucky for us, he decided to take his time and Jarrod was able to escape. Jarrod got hurt pretty bad but he ended up killing both of them.”

Victoria glanced to the top of the stairs. Her heart broke that her principled son had to take not just one life, but two, and sent up a prayer of thanks that he was finally safe. “How bad off is he, Nick?”

Nick shrugged. He didn’t want to go into details and worry her even more. “He rode all the way from Knight’s Ferry to Plymouth and then back here, so he’ll be okay. But I reckon he’s hurting more than he’s saying. You know Jarrod.”

Victoria nodded and bit her lip in concern “Well, Dr. Merar will check him over. Your brother’s home now and we’ll make sure he gets the rest and care that he needs.”

 

 

Jarrod awoke in a panic. His sudden attempt to get to his feet caused him to slip and he splashed back into the water. His shoulder slammed painfully against the edge of the tub.

“Hey, Jarrod, you all right in there?”

Jarrod took a deep breath as he finally recognized his surroundings and the identity of the voice registered in his mind. _Home. I’m home,_ he repeated to himself.

“Yeah, Nick,” he called back. “Just fell asleep in the tub, I guess.”

“Well, I reckon you should get out before you start looking like cousin Alma,” Nick said through the door. “And Dr. Merar’s here. Mother called him out to check you over.”

Jarrod felt a cold fear clutch his chest. “I’m fine, Nick,” he retorted sharply. “I don’t need the doctor.”

“You can tell that to Mother,” was Nick’s reply. “I left a shirt and pants outside the door. If you’re not out in ten minutes, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes up and drags you out of there, clothes or no clothes.”

Ruthlessly pushing aside the dread that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his belly, Jarrod hauled himself out of the now-tepid water and towelled off gingerly. He wrapped the towel around his midsection and unlocked the door, thankful there was no one in the hall as he picked up his clothes. Dressing carefully, he re-exited the bathroom and met Dr. Merar and Victoria as he walked toward the stairs.

“Jarrod.” The grey haired physician calmly looked him over. “I hear you’ve been injured.”

Jarrod managed a tight smile. “I guess I’ve been better,” he said non-committally.

“Well, do you mind if I have a look?” Dr. Merar asked. “Nick said you had some competent doctoring initially, but I’d like to make sure everything’s healing as it should.”

Jarrod took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. “Really, doctor, I’m fine. Just need some food and a little rest is all.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Nodding, knowing he wouldn’t be able to dissuade the family’s doctor, Jarrod headed down the hall to the door to his own room. Putting a hand on the doorknob, he turned and said as casually as he could, “Mother, I don’t think it’s necessary for you to stay. I’m sure Dr. Merar can manage fine on his own.”

“Jarrod…” Victoria started to protest, but he cut her off.

“Mother, please,” he repeated and she reluctantly acquiesced.

“All right, Jarrod. I’ll bring you up that soup when Howard’s done.”

Dr. Merar followed Jarrod into his room and the attorney shut the door firmly behind them.

“What did Nick tell you?” he asked quietly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“That you were beaten pretty badly,” the physician said as he set down his bag, “and the doctor in Knight’s Ferry was surprised you’re still alive. Now let’s see that hand.”

Dr. Merar gave Jarrod’s hand and wrist a thorough examination, checking the mobility and strength of the whole hand as well as each finger individually. “Well, Jarrod, I won’t lie to you,” he said finally. “I don’t think you’ll ever have the same use that you did before, but a lot of the strength and movement should come back in time. Providing,” he added sternly, “you take it easy and allow it to heal.”

Jarrod nodded. “I will, doc,” he said as Dr. Merar rebandaged it.

“Now Nick said your back was also injured and you have a couple broken ribs.”

Jarrod nodded again and clenched his teeth as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Jarrod held still as the doctor inspected the burns and lacerations. His muscles trembled under the strain of fighting back the unreasoning fear and the urge to run. Trying to fight down the nausea brought on by the doctor’s hands touching him, he squeezed his eyes so tight that they were leaking tears by the time Dr. Merar placed a light bandage around the his chest and shoulders and rewrapped his ribs.

“You need to have this changed every couple days,” the doctor cautioned. “Most of it’s healing well, but there are a couple spots that look a bit inflamed.” He noticed the strain on Jarrod’s face. “I’m not surprised if it still hurts quite a bit. I’ll leave a bottle of laudanum for you in case you need it.” He sighed. “There’s going to be quite a bit of scarring. I wish I could do something for it…” The doctor shook his head and Jarrod forced out a wan smile.

“It’s okay, doc. I know you’d do everything you could.”

Dr. Merar rose to his feet and put his instruments back in his bag, closing it with a snap that made Jarrod flinch. “I’ll look in on you in a day or two and change that bandage, maybe remove some of the stitches.” He held out his hand and Jarrod shook it quickly. “Call me if you need anything and don’t worry about seeing me out. I know my way.”

The doctor left and as he closed the door behind him, Jarrod sat back on the bed in relief and sunk his head into his hands. _What the devil is wrong with you?_ he asked himself. _No one here is going to hurt you; no one you know would ever…_ He stopped that thought before it got any further. _Don’t think about it. Don’t dwell on it and maybe you’ll be able to forget it ever happened._


	9. Chapter 9

Oh, god, he couldn’t get out. He was trapped, his arms pinned and he struggled as the dark shape came nearer, reaching out to grab him, to violate him again. He thrashed wildly as he was held down, could start to feel the burning pain as the other forced his way inside---

Jarrod sat up abruptly and struggled out of the covers that had wrapped around him during his nightmare. His eyes darted around the darkened room in a panic and his harsh breathing slowed a little as he realized he was in his own room and there was no one with him. But he felt closed in and he desperately needed to get out of the trap the room that had been his sanctuary for so many years now seemed. He quickly dressed and went down the back stairs, through the kitchen and outside to lean against the house where he gulped in a huge breath of the cool night air. His racing heart finally slowed and his head began to clear.

Jarrod trembled. He still felt the ghost of hands roaming over him and felt a flush of shame at the thing that continued to invade his dreams. _They’ll find out._ He shuddered in terror. _If I start screaming out loud…_ He quickly locked that thought down. No one would know. He wouldn’t wake anyone with his nightmares because he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep in the house where anyone could hear. _Besides,_ he thought as he stole back up to his room and grabbed his bedroll out from beneath the bed, trying not to jump at the shadows, _I might even be able to sleep better._ He snagged his gunbelt from the bedside table and went back outside.

Jarrod found a secluded spot on the far side of the yard and settled in. He managed a couple hours of restless sleep before he heard the stirrings of the ranch waking around him. Quickly gathering his things together, he snuck back into the house, not wanting anyone to question what he was doing out there and didn’t notice the eyes watching from one of the upstairs windows.

 

Heath let the curtain fall as he turned away from the window and as he continued to get ready for the day, he heard the quiet click of the door closing when Jarrod returned to his room. He’d been worried when he returned home from the cattle drive to find his big brother drawn and pale and after only getting a curt, “Fine,” from Jarrod when he inquired how he was doing, Heath asked Nick what had happened. Nick told him everything, not glossing over the details like he had with their mother and the blond cowboy had a sudden flashback to the hellhole of a prison camp he’d been incarcerated in during the war. Jarrod hadn’t been held for months, but he’d been alone where Heath had comrades to lean on and Heath had no doubts his brother was going through the same kind of hell he had.

Heath was pretty sure he knew why Jarrod was coming back into the house with his bedroll under his arm and wondered how he could help his brother when Jarrod wouldn’t even talk to him. He’d tried after dinner the previous night, but Jarrod brushed him off and said he had some work to do up in his room, even though he hadn’t been to his law office in days. He’d just have to make sure Jarrod knew he was there for him, Heath decided as he pulled on his boots and vowed to keep a close eye on his eldest brother.

*

Victoria watched with concern as Jarrod retreated up the stairs to his room right after dinner, something that had happened every night since Nick brought him home. Dr. Merar told them Jarrod would need a great deal of rest as he recovered from his injuries, but the worried mother was afraid it was more than that. The Jarrod she knew always had a smile for his family, ready with light-hearted teasing or a hug and a kiss for those he loved. He always looked forward to a game of billiards or cards after dinner, a time the Barkleys used to reconnect with one another while pursuing their own busy lives.

But the warm, loving man she had raised had been replaced with a wary, hard-edged individual who held himself away from everyone. He stayed mostly outside and saw them only at mealtimes where he spent more time pushing his food around his plate than he did eating. Victoria also noticed him cringe whenever one of them ventured to touch his arm or give him some kind of physical affection.

Victoria tried to tell herself it was just the pain that was making him act that way. Howard confided in her the extent of the injuries to Jarrod’s back and hand and she knew that Jarrod was doing his best to mask how much he was hurting. But her instincts told her it was something more. She had asked him, had let her eldest know that she was there to listen if he wanted to talk, but Jarrod just shook his head and told her he would be fine before he again vanished upstairs.

Sighing as she joined her other sons in the library, Victoria was glad Audra was off on a tour of Europe with her Aunt Ruth and wasn’t there to see the state her beloved older brother was in.

“He isn’t joining us.”

Victoria shook her head at Nick’s statement. “No, he said to say goodnight and went upstairs.”

Nick slammed his hand against the felt of the pool table. “Dammit, how can we help him if he won’t talk to us?!”

“I don’t know, Nick.” Victoria tried to smile through the tears of frustration that threatened and Nick put his arm around her in an attempt to reassure.

Heath picked a ball off the table and rolled it in his hand carefully. “Reckon the only thing we can do is what we’re already doing.” At the confused expressions, he explained, “You can’t make a man talk about those things he doesn’t want to think about. We just gotta make sure to look out for him, make sure Jarrod knows how much we care. If he wants to talk, he knows we’ll listen.” Heath was quiet for a moment before adding softly, “Still got things I ain’t never talked about.”

Victoria reached over and took Heath’s arm to draw him closer. If anyone could understand what was happening with Jarrod, it was Heath. Her sons were all made of strong stuff and if Heath had successfully conquered his own demons, she told herself, there was no reason why Jarrod wouldn’t be able to do the same.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, Jarrod, why don’t you come into town with us tonight?”

Icy fingers squeezed Jarrod’s stomach as he looked up from his barely-touched dinner to the brother who’d just spoken.

“Play a few hands of cards, have a couple drinks,” Nick continued. “Heath, what do you think?”

“Sounds good, Nick,” Heath agreed. “What do you say, big brother? You haven’t been out with us since you got back.”

Jarrod forced a bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth to avoid answering. Vividly remembering when he’d gone to Stockton a couple days ago, it was all he could do to choke down the mouthful of food.

 _He rode to town, wanting to check in at his office. He’d stayed close to home the previous week as he tried to rest and recover from his ordeal but knew he had to get back to work and try to get on with his life._

 _He felt his stomach churn as he got into town and the press of people, the stares of passers-by, almost undid him. Were they staring at him because they could somehow see his shame? That man walking across the street, should he run and get away before he was attacked? Jarrod knew his thoughts were irrational, but his hands were shaking as he tethered Jingo to the rail and he was drenched in sweat by the time his fumbling fingers unlocked the door to his office and quickly locked it behind him. He spent the next two hours huddled in the far corner, unable to move, reliving what had happened to him in that barn outside Knight’s Ferry. He’d eventually been able to fight back the paralysis and get outside, get on his horse and ride for home to spend the rest of the day shut up in his room, unable to regain even enough composure to face dinnertime with the family._

He really didn’t want to go into town, but as he glanced at the faces around the table, he saw them trying to hide their expressions of worry and concern. Jarrod forced a smile. “Sounds like a good idea, boys.” Maybe it would be easier with his brothers by his side.

But it wasn’t. Jarrod started sweating as soon as they walked into the saloon. The place wasn’t overly crowded, but Jarrod felt as though all eyes were on him.

“Hey, Harry, bring us a bottle, will you?” Nick called as they made their way to an empty table. Jarrod tried not to be too obvious as he grabbed the seat facing the door. He forced his hand away from the butt of his pistol that was now holstered on his left hip and firmly placed it on his thigh instead. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the glass Nick poured for him and was relieved that the shaking in his hand wasn’t overtly noticeable. He took a big gulp and set it carefully back down.

He tried to control his breathing, resorting to old courtroom tricks he used to keep himself poised and in control through difficult cases. He didn’t say anything as Nick and Heath exchanged small talk with some of the other ranchers who stopped by their table, he just made himself smile and nod in greeting. Jarrod gulped back the rest of the whiskey in his glass and the bottle slipped as he automatically tried to lift it with his still-damaged right hand to pour a refill.

Heath’s quick reflexes grabbed the bottle before it could fall. “Let me help you with that, Jarrod,” he said and poured Jarrod a large measure of the amber liquid. Jarrod could feel his face flush with the humiliation of needing help to pour himself a drink.

“Thanks, Heath,” he mumbled and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants.

Nick regaled them with the story of what had happened that day. Heath chuckled at the description the ranch foreman being trapped by an irate bull, having to take refuge in a tree until Nick and a couple others were able to rope the beast to drag him away from the treed man. Jarrod tried to join in the laughter, but he wasn’t really able to concentrate on his brother’s story. He tried not to be too obvious as he watched the room and jumped when a hand slipped though his hair.

“Well, hey, Jarrod honey, it’s been a while.”

Jarrod forced his panic under control and looked into the sultry green eyes of the woman standing behind him. “I guess I’ve been busy, Rose,” he apologized as he gave her a forced smile.

The redhead leaned over and brushed her hands across his chest as she whispered in his ear, “I’m sure you could make it up to me.”

Jarrod took a deep breath and willed himself to stay calm. He was in no danger, this was Frisco Rose, one of the most talented courtesans Stockton had to offer and he’d partaken of her charms on more than one occasion. Maybe that was what he needed, Jarrod thought as he felt a slight stirring in his manhood through the tension. A good roll in the hay with a beautiful woman to make him feel like a man again.

“Well, if you’re free…” Jarrod forced down his unease as Rose smiled at him and took his arm as he got to his feet. Jarrod gave his brothers a wink. “Excuse me, boys,” and he followed Rose up the stairs.

Once the door was shut, Jarrod wasted no time in first removing Rose’s clothing and then his pants. He pulled her close and his tongue probed and plundered her mouth. He could feel his manhood start to harden until Rose slid her hands down and grabbed his buttocks. A wave of panic surged through him and Jarrod’s erection withered as he pulled back abruptly.

What was he thinking? He was no kind of man anymore. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t pleasure a woman even if what she actually felt _was_ pleasure. After being penetrated himself, he would never forget the searing agony. How could he imagine he’d never bring a partner pain? Besides, the hands roaming over him that brought so much enjoyment in the past now only made his skin crawl and he despaired of ever being able to feel that kind of passion again.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” Jarrod mumbled hastily to the surprised woman as he pulled on his pants and fastened the buttons as quickly as he could. “I have to go.” He tossed some money on the dresser before leaving the room and forced himself not to bolt down the stairs as he headed for his horse to ride for the sanctuary of home.

 

Jarrod tried to be inconspicuous as he left, but Heath’s sharp eyes saw him slip down the stairs and outside. He nudged Nick.

“Nick, Jarrod’s leaving,” he said. “I’m gonna go after him and see if I can get him to talk to me.”

Nick downed his drink. “I’ll come with you.”

“Reckon you should stay put,” Heath advised. “I don’t think I’ll be telling you anything you don’t know when I say our big brother’s not doing too well. Maybe if I can get him to stop long enough to talk, I can help him out.” He didn’t say it, but knew Nick would hear the unspoken words, that Heath’s experiences as a prisoner of war might be able to help Jarrod deal with what happened in Knight’s Ferry if only Jarrod would give him a chance.

Nick nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Heath.”

Heath gave him a lopsided grin as he got to his feet. “Don’t forget to pay for the drinks,” he teased as he left.

Jingo was gone from the rail where he had been tethered beside Charger and Heath swung into the bay’s saddle. He was pretty sure Jarrod would have headed home and turned his horse in the direction of the ranch.

 

The ride home went past Jarrod in a blur. He just needed to get away and wondered if he should keep riding. Just keep going and not have to constantly worry that his family would discover his shame or see the expressions on their faces when they looked at him. He recalled the pity in his mother’s eyes that morning as he tried to sign his name to a business contract and felt a flush of humiliation at the barely legible scrawl. If he added to that he wasn’t eating enough, that his skin crawled every time someone tried to touch him and the fact that he’d practically bolted from town tonight, Jarrod knew his family’s concern was going to grow even greater. He didn’t know how much more of it he could take or how much of the unreasoning fear he could stand before he just couldn’t go on.

He reached the ranch without even realizing it and Jingo stopped in front of the barn door. Jarrod slid from the saddle and eyed the dark opening. He gulped as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to force himself to take his horse inside and with a whispered apology, unsaddled the sorrel and took him around to let him loose in the corral to the side.

An icy panic gripped him when he heard hoofbeats from the other side of the building. Terror took over and Jarrod flattened himself against the wall, tensing, ready to attack before he was assaulted again. Holding his breath, Jarrod held himself still until he saw the dark figure round the corner. He pounced and wrapped his arm around his assailant’s neck and hung on for all he was worth.

“Jarrod,” a voice wheezed, but Jarrod didn’t let up until it croaked again, “Jarrod, stop, it’s Heath…”

Jarrod immediately released his hold and stared in dismay as his younger brother rubbed his throat and gasped for breath.

“Oh, god, Heath,” he said in a strangled whisper, “what have I…?”

Heath looked up to see the horror on Jarrod’s face before his oldest brother bolted. He took a faltering step to stop him, but he needed a little more time to recover from the attack. Jarrod had one devil of a grip, that was for sure and Heath leaned against the barn to catch his breath. Feeling steadier after a few minutes, he followed in Jarrod’s direction and his heart stopped when he found his brother kneeling on the ground, tears tracked across his cheeks and the barrel of his gun pointed at his own face with shaking hands.

“I know how I’d feel if you ate that bullet, big brother,” Heath drawled softly, “I can’t even imagine what it would do to Mother.”

Jarrod slowly lowered the gun and dropped it to the ground. His head sank into his hands and his shoulders shook with repressed sobs.

“How, Heath?” he said, anguished. “How do I go on? I’m a danger to myself, my family…” Jarrod looked up, heatbreaking sorrow evident in his blue eyes. “My god, Heath, I almost killed you tonight.”

Heath sat beside him, close but not touching. “Don’t reckon I know all of how you feel, Jarrod,” he said softly. “But I’ve likely got some idea. When I was in Carterson…” He paused. He didn’t want to dredge up memories long since put behind him, but knew he had to if he wanted to help his brother. “I saw more than one good man not be able to go on because of what he’d seen or went through.” Heath gave a cynical laugh. “When I got out, reckon it was a good thing I was flat on my back for six weeks or I’d have run screaming for the hills.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Heath thought of the past few mornings when he watched Jarrod come back to the house after spending the night somewhere else. “Y’know, it does help to talk about it.”

“And what do you want me to talk about?” Jarrod asked with a hint of sarcasm. “That I still remember smell of my own burning flesh? That it didn’t matter if I died or managed to get free, that all that mattered was escape? How I still wake up screaming from nightmares about what he…” Jarrod cut off what he was going to say and buried his head in his hands.

“Any of it, Jarrod,” Heath replied quietly, “or all of it. You know I ain’t gonna judge you.”

Jarrod took a long, shaky breath. “I can’t, Heath. I just can’t.”

Heath wanted to reach out to his older brother and offer him some kind of reassurance, but refrained as he recalled Jarrod’s aversion to being touched since he got back.

“Maybe you just need some time to yourself,” Heath finally said, although a bit reluctantly. He did know what his older brother was going through. He saw the strain on Jarrod’s face whenever the family was around, maybe especially when they were around. Heath remembered how hard it was to take the sympathy of strangers when he was recovering after the liberation of Carterson; the fact that it was family’s eyes that looked at him so pityingly must make it doubly hard. “I don’t like to think about you being alone, Jarrod, but I reckon it might be good for you to not have to worry about keeping a brave face for the rest of us.”

“I want to,” Jarrod admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “Oh, god, I just want to run away from everyone and everything. I just don’t want to hurt anyone, Mother, Nick…”

Heath gave him a small smile. “Reckon I can make them see it’s for the best. You just gotta promise me two things, Jarrod.”

“What are they, Heath?”

“Well, the first is to write or wire us, let us know where you are and that you’re okay. Otherwise I don’t know if I can hold off the posse.” Heath smiled as he saw Jarrod relax a bit.

“And the other?”

Heath picked up the gun from where Jarrod had dropped it and handed it back. “That you won’t use this.”

Jarrod stared at the revolver in his hands before slowly nodding and meeting his brother’s eyes. “You have my word, Heath.”

Heath gripped Jarrod’s shoulder briefly and was relieved that the other man didn’t flinch away. “C’mon, I’ll help you pack. Best to get away before Nick finds out what you’re up to.”

Jarrod gave Heath a bit of a smile. “Thank you, brother Heath.”

“Anytime, Jarrod. Anytime.”


	11. Chapter 11

When she arrived for breakfast in the morning, Victoria found an envelope beside her plate and swallowed the surge of pity when she recognized Jarrod’s painfully printed “Mother” on the front. Her son had always been so proud of his elegant penmanship and she knew how much it hurt him to have that taken away.

Victoria pulled the carefully folded sheet out of the envelope and started reading.

 

 _Dear Mother,_

 _By now, Heath has probably explained to you that I needed to get away. I believe some time to myself might help me rid my mind of the demons that have plagued me ever since the events in Knight’s Ferry._

 _Your love and support mean everything to me and I shall be grateful beyond words if you can give me this time to work through my problems on my own, even if you do not understand._

 _I carry you and the rest of the family in my heart every moment. Rest assured I will keep in touch and God willing shall be with you again someday soon._

 _With all my love,_

 _Jarrod  
_

Victoria bit her lip to fight back the tears that threatened. Jarrod was her first-born and it tore her heart that he didn’t think she could help him with what he was going through. How could she just let him go?

“He’s hoping you’ll understand.”

Victoria looked into the compassionate eyes of Jarrod’s youngest brother who had moved up beside her and then to the letter again. Jarrod had obviously talked to Heath and she knew Heath would never have let his brother leave if he didn’t think that was what Jarrod needed. “No, I don’t understand,” she admitted sadly, “not really.”

Heath sat next to her. “He needs some space. Space to come to terms with whatever happened to him without having to worry about what we think of him or how it’ll affect us.”

“Jarrod always did try keep his personal problems to himself,” she admitted. “He always felt he had to be the strong one after your father died.”

“And he can’t be that right now.” Heath studied his hands for a moment. “It’s hard for a man to admit that there’s something out there that can break him and it’s even harder to accept that your family knows it.” He gave Victoria a small grin. “And Jarrod swore he’d stay in touch. If he doesn’t, I promise I’ll take Nick and we’ll hunt him down.”

Victoria nodded. “Your brother will be in our hearts and prayers every day,” she affirmed, “and I’m holding him to what he said in his letter, that he’ll be back with us soon.”

 

*

October 25, 1877

Barkley Ranch, Stockton, CA

From Jarrod Barkley, Knoxville, CA

Am doing fine –stop- please do not worry –stop- love Jarrod –end message.

 

*

 _November 17, 1877  
Paskenta, California_

 _Dear family,_

 _As I hope you can tell by my writing, my hand has been improving. I am in good health, but I am not yet ready to resume my former life. I hope my absence has not caused too many problems; the last thing I want to do is cause you undue difficulties._

 _I am not sure what my plans are for the winter and I do not know if I will be home before Christmas, but rest assured I think of you often._

 _Love,_

 _Jarrod_

*

December 10, 1877  
Corning, California

Heath,  
I was very pleased to get your letter. It was not as much of a shock as you might think to find out the hard-working young cowhand who left my employ so suddenly was a son of Tom Barkley. I met your father once and you have the same drive and strength I remember in him.  
As to your inquiry, I have been keeping an eye out and my ears open for word of your brother Jarrod. I did not see him myself, but a man matching his description riding a sorrel with the crooked blaze you described purchased a mule and large quantity of supplies in town last week. The clerk did not recall him mentioning where he was from or where he was going, but from his purchases, I reckon he is heading into the mountains for the winter.  
I am sorry I cannot be of more help. Do not hesitate to stop by if you are ever in the area.

Sincerely,  
Robert Thomas

*

 _December 15, 1877  
Quincy, California_

 _Dear Mother,_

 _I regret to say I will not be home before Christmas. The weather may prevent me from sending any letters for a while, so please give my best wishes and love to the rest of the family. Know that I think of you always,_

 _Your loving son,_

 _Jarrod  
_


	12. Chapter 12

Jarrod stared at the small town, not sure of what he felt. Being up in the cabin all winter without another soul around, his nightmares had all but disappeared and he was hesitant to have anything disturb his possibly fragile peace of mind. But he had to admit he was also lonely. He was by nature a social man and even though his self-imposed exile was in his mind necessary, Jarrod couldn’t help hoping he was ready to join society again.

He’d originally intended to only be gone a few weeks or so when he left Stockton. But every time he got near a town, his first instinct was to turn and run the other way. It had taken all of his willpower to go in, send the few wires and letters to his family and buy supplies. The strength of his reactions caused Jarrod to despair of ever being able to go back to his former life. So when he encountered a man wanting to sell out and return back east to civilization and family, Jarrod bought the solitary cabin in the woods for the price of a train ticket to Philadelphia and spent the winter months up in the mountains alone. The hard work it took to keep warm and fed was cathartic and once the snow melted, he decided to head out again and send a letter to his family who were surely worried after all that time.

Jarrod scratched at the ragged beard that covered his face. There hadn’t been a need to shave alone in the mountains; he hadn’t even bothered to hack his hair and beard to a manageable length with his knife when it got too long. Maybe there was a barber in the town, Jarrod thought as he guided his horse through the trees and laughed quietly. That would be a real test, if he could let a stranger get close to his neck with a razor.

There were only a few people on the street when he rode into town. Jarrod tried to ignore their stares as he pulled Jingo to a halt in front of a weathered building with a sign proclaiming “General Store” and a striped barber pole beside the door. The looks weren’t hostile and he was a stranger after all, a none too respectable looking stranger at the moment, either. Taking his courage in hand, Jarrod pushed open the door and went inside.

The stout, balding man behind the counter looked him over thoroughly. “What can I do for you?”

Jarrod took a deep breath to settle his nerves. “A shave and a haircut if the barber’s around. A bath too, if you’ve got it.” His fear was overcome by a deep-seated urge to feel like himself again.

The other man nodded. “Got a big old tub in the back. It’ll be two bits for the lot.”

Jarrod dug a coin out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter. It was inspected carefully before being placed in the cash register and the man came out from behind the counter. Jarrod took the hand offered with a sure grip. The doctors had been right; most of the strength had come back, even though all his fingers didn’t move as well as they used to.

“Name’s Hal Perkins,” the man introduced. “Shopkeeper, barber, bartender, I do it all around here. I’ll just head into the back and heat up the water for you, Mr…?”

“Barkley,” Jarrod offered.

“Won’t be but a couple minutes, Mr. Barkley.” The proprietor bustled into the back and Jarrod took a seat at what likely served as a bar. He moved the chair so he could see anyone coming in and sighed at his automatic positioning. At least he wasn’t shaking or wanting to run, he reminded himself.

“The water’s just heating,” Perkins announced when he came back. “So, what brings you to our fair town, Mr. Barkley?”

Jarrod shrugged. “Needed to send a letter,” he said in an offhand manner.

Perkins nodded his head. “Don’t got no post office here in Paxton,” he told Jarrod, “but Harry Walters hauls freight to Quincy every week. He does most of the mail delivery in these parts.”

Jarrod pulled the letter out of his pocket and turned it over slowly as he made sure it was addressed and sealed. He handed it to Perkins. “I’d be mighty grateful. How much?”

“Oh, a nickle’ll cover the postage and Harry’s fee.” That coin was inspected as well and put behind the counter with the letter. Perkins eyed him closely and Jarrod started to feel uncomfortable at the scrutiny until he said, “Those clothes have seen better days. If you got a spare set, my niece Grace takes in laundry and mending. I reckon she could have them spruced up in no time at all.”

Jarrod started to relax as he looked at his clothes. He’d done his best to clean and repair the shirt and pants, but he was certainly no seamstress and his other set was in even worse shape. “Maybe I should start up an account with you, Mr. Perkins,” he said ruefully. “I could probably use a new set of clothes on top of your niece’s sewing skills.”

Perkins laughed. “Reckon I can do that for you too. Now the water should be ready and I’ll let Grace know as soon as I get your size for some new things.”

Jarrod nodded and followed the affable man into a back room where a cast iron boiler and tub stood behind a curtain.

“Just pump what you need,” Perkins told him. “The pump with cold water’s on the other side. Stay in as long as you want, if another customer comes along, I’ll let you know.”

“Much obliged.” Jarrod filled the tub and stripped off his clothes, reaching around to put them on the chair on the other side of the curtain before he sank into the blissfully hot water. He hadn’t had a real bath in months and revelled in the heat soaking into his skin and muscles. Jarrod closed his eyes and relaxed as much as he dared. He didn’t feel totally comfortable, but it was a far cry from the fear and panic he would have felt four months before. Heath had been right; having time alone and not having to worry about what anyone else thought had been a balm to his broken spirit. But encountering one friendly storekeeper wasn’t the same as the bustle of people in a big place like Stockton and dealing with strangers was sometimes easier than the people you knew. _Just take it slow, Jarrod,_ he advised himself. _Just one step at a time._

After a long soak, Jarrod picked up the soap on the edge of the tub and scrubbed himself clean. He grimaced at the grimy water and stood to pump a bucket that was cold and clear. He shivered as he poured it over his head. With the last of the dirt and soap rinsed off, Jarrod stepped out of the tub and towelled off. Glancing around the corner, he saw that Perkins was true to his word and a small pile of neatly folded clothes had replaced the old ones on the chair. He pulled on the clean, soft union suit and was about to shrug it over his shoulders when he heard a soft gasp behind him. Reaching for the gunbelt he hanging on the back of the chair, Jarrod turned to find a young brunette standing in the doorway in shock. He wasn’t sure if the expression on her face was from the scarred appearance of his back or just the surprise of encountering a half-naked man.

She backed out of the room, stuttering, “I… I’m dreadfully sorry, sir, I…” The young woman turned and fled.

Losing a bit of the relaxation he’d gained, Jarrod finished dressing and went out to the front of the shop to see her leaving through the front door. Perkins waved him over to the barber chair in the corner and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry for that, Mr. Barkley,” he said as he readied a hot towel. “Grace got my words mixed up and thought your clothes were in the back room, not you.”

“No harm done on my part. I hope she wasn’t too upset,” Jarrod replied as Perkins wrapped the steaming towel over his face. He took a deep breath as he heard the stropping of the razor. Heartbeat quickening when the towel was removed, Jarrod managed to fight off his fear while his beard was lathered and braced himself for the next step. Perkins chatted affably as he wielded the razor with a sure, steady hand and Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief once his beard was efficiently sheared off. He ran a hand over the smooth skin while his hair was trimmed to a more respectable length and felt more than just the weight of the unwanted hair being lifted from him.

“There you are,” Perkins announced as he gave Jarrod’s neck and collar a quick whisk with a brush, “you look like a new man.”

“And I feel like one, too.”

Perkins started cleaning up. “Grace said she’d have your things ready in another hour or so. You can settle up with her when you pick them up. It’s the yellow house at the south end of the street, can’t miss it.”

“Might as well load up on supplies while I wait.” Jarrod took his time gathering together a few essentials and topped them off with a small bottle of whiskey and a few fragrant cigars. He wasn’t sure what his plans were yet; his encounter with the easy-going Hal Perkins was heartening, but he still wasn’t sure he was ready to resume his life.

He loaded his purchases into the saddlebags and tied the small sack of grain beside his bedroll. Then with a pat for Jingo’s shoulder, he palmed the lumps of sugar he’d put in his pocket and offered the sorrel the treat, which was accepted happily. Jingo was looking a little scruffy around the edges, too, Jarrod observed, but his mount didn’t seem to mind. As long as he was warm, dry and well-fed, Jingo was a very tolerant horse and when he wasn’t hauling wood, the gelding had spent the winter days drowsing in the shed with the packmule that Jarrod gave to an old miner on his way out of the mountains.

He unwrapped the reins from the rail and Jingo followed him down the street. He found the tidy yellow house at the end and tied his horse to the gate. A colourful array of spring flowers greeted him as he walked to the door. His mother would love that garden, Jarrod thought with a pang of homesickness before he rapped on the door.

The pretty brunette from the store promptly answered it. She blushed when she saw him.

“Ma’am,” Jarrod said politely, “Mr. Perkins at the store told me I could pick up my things here and pay you for them.” He was too much of a gentleman to mention the earlier incident.

“Oh, of course.” She smiled self-consciously and Jarrod couldn’t help but admire her lovely dimples and soft brown eyes. “I’ll go get them.”

Jarrod gave her a smile of his own. “I’ll wait here.”

She gave a slight nod and disappeared back into the house, returning with a paper-wrapped bundle. “It comes to a dollar.” She kept her gaze on the tops of her boots as she handed him the package.

Jarrod placed a couple coins in her hand. “Much obliged, ma’am.” He tipped his hat before leaving. “Have yourself a good day.” He closed the gate behind him and stowed the clothes in his saddlebag. As he swung into the saddle, he glanced back to the house in time to see the door shut slowly and smiled as he clucked to Jingo to set the sorrel into an easy lope out of town


	13. Chapter 13

Jarrod wandered. He had no set goal, no real plans and was content to let the sights and smells of spring wash over him. He knew he had to try and get his life back but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. Maybe when he reached a town with a telegraph office, he’d wire his brothers and arrange to meet them, take it slow and ease his way back. He didn’t think he could ever tell them what happened but also knew deep down Nick and Heath would never judge him. Breathing a bit easier with some sort of plan in mind, Jarrod guided Jingo down the tree-lined trail and embraced the signs of spring’s rebirth.

A sound broke the peaceful quiet of the forest. The muffled cry started a feeling of dread in Jarrod’s stomach and a part of him wanted to ignore it, to turn and ride in the other direction. But he wasn’t that kind of man, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to ride away no matter how much he wanted to, so Jarrod slipped from Jingo’s back and headed in the direction of the noise.

He froze when he came out of the trees into a small clearing. A man was looking on as another was on the ground. The second man had his pants around his knees and his hips were pumping with unmistakeable movements. Jarrod couldn’t see the victim, he could only see a wide-spread pair of legs and bunched up skirts, but he could hear her soft whimpers of pain.

He was only frozen for a moment. Pulling his gun, Jarrod growled, “I’d stop now if I were you.”

The man assaulting the woman stopped his motions and both looked at the newcomer.

“Well, hey, friend, no need to get testy,” said the man who had been watching. “There’s enough of this sweet little thing to go around.”

A red-hot fury engulfed Jarrod, overpowering any feelings of fear. He lunged at the rapist and dragged him off the woman before smashing him in the face with his gun. He whirled as he heard a shot scream past his head and fired.

Jarrod watched as the other man fell, his shirt rapidly soaked through as he bled out on the ground. The flash of rage quickly drained away and Jarrod felt the panic he thought banished surge through him. Dropping to his knees, that night over six months ago came rushing back and Jarrod found himself reliving the blinding pain and horrific feeling of his own rape. The icy cold terror gripped him tightly and wouldn’t let go and he let out a strangled moan. Oh, god, it was never going to be over, he was never going to be free…

“Look out!”

The shaky warning made it through and Jarrod looked up just in time to see the man he’d hit lunge for him. The other’s face was a bloody mess, the broken nose oozing blood, but his murderous intent was clear. Jarrod managed to get his arms up before the hands grabbed his throat and he threw the other man off. He heard a sickening crack as the assailant hit the ground. The legs jerked once and then the body was still.

Jarrod shakily got to his feet and approached the unmoving form cautiously. Blood and tissue covered the rock that had smashed through the other’s head and when Jarrod rested his hand on the man’s chest, the heartbeat was still.

He turned to find the young woman vainly trying to pull her torn dress together to cover herself and was surprised to see it was Hal Perkins’ niece. He took off his coat and slowly approached her to drape it gently around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

She pulled the coat tightly around herself. “I should be the one thanking you,” she replied in a trembling voice. “They… I…” She burst into tears.

Jarrod was unsure what sort of comfort he could give, but knelt down beside her and put an arm around her. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, “they can’t hurt you again.” She grabbed his shirt and collapsed against his chest, still sobbing. Jarrod kept a firm grip on his emotions. He wouldn’t be any use to her if he couldn’t remain strong.

Jarrod held her close and stroked her hair with a gentle touch until the tears finally abated. “Come on,” he encouraged gently, “my horse is just over there. I’ll get you home.”

“No!” she protested and abruptly pushed away. “I can’t!” She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself tightly. “I can’t,” she repeated again in distress. “How can I face anyone after what… I just can’t.” She started weeping again.

Jarrod understood her fear and reluctance all too well. “Let me at least get you away from here.” He stood and held out his hand. Still clutching the coat closed, she cautiously accepted the help and he assisted her to her feet. He led her over to Jingo, gave her a boost into the saddle and handed her the reins. “Do you think you can ride by yourself?” She nodded. “I’ll go find their horses,” Jarrod told her, but turned back when she called out to him.

“You don’t have to do this, Mr…” She paused uncomfortably. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Jarrod,” he said with a soft smile. “And I believe you’re Grace, if I may call you by your given name.” Grace nodded with a small smile of her own. “I’ll be right back, Grace,” Jarrod assured her.

He found the horses tethered on the other side of the clearing. Tightening the girths, he mounted the chestnut and looped the other animal’s reins around the saddle horn. Jarrod took a long look at the bodies of the men lying on the ground. There wasn’t any other choice, he told himself and found he harboured little regret for the actions that had taken the outlaws’ lives.

Jarrod rode back to where Grace was waiting. He knew he didn’t have to worry with her riding Jingo; his horse had a smooth, easy gait and didn’t spook or shy easily. “Let’s ride a little and find a good place to stop for a while.” He reached out to grab her hand briefly and gave her an encouraging smile before he urged his mount into a slow walk.

They rode at a slow pace and Jarrod kept a close eye on Grace. By the way she was actively guiding Jingo, she seemed to be holding herself together. She didn’t say much, not that Jarrod expected her to, and he didn’t feel like talking either. The silence gave him the chance to examine his own reactions and he found he could think about it with only a slight twisting of his stomach. Just as if he was examining all parts of a legal matter, Jarrod turned over all the recent events in his mind.

He hadn’t run when he came across Grace’s assailants; he’d stood his ground and defended her in spite his panic.

He’d come out of the mountains and was able to interact with Perkins in town without feeling overt fear.

His nightmares had almost stopped; he no longer woke every night in a cold sweat.

When he thought of his home and family, he no longer dreaded their concern and pity, he was just filled with a longing to see them again.

Most of all, he was starting to believe he could again be the man he once was and he wanted that life back.

Jarrod’s thoughts stayed with him until they found a fast running stream. Following it, they eventually came across a relatively clear area. Jarrod looked over at Grace and saw she was drooping in the saddle, so he dismounted quickly and walked to Jingo’s side. Grace flinched when he put his hand on her arm and Jarrod felt a pang of empathy at the brief look of panic on her face. “It’s all right,” he tried to reassure her, “no one will hurt you.”

Grace gave him a slight nod. She allowed him to help her from Jingo’s back and guide her to a fallen log nearby to sit.

“You just rest,” Jarrod said gently, “I’ll unsaddle the horses and get some wood for a fire.” His heart went out to her at the despondent look on her face. “It’ll be okay.”

Taking care of the camp chores, Jarrod wondered if he really believed his words of reassurance. Maybe it would be easier for a woman, he thought, but he really didn’t believe that. They had both been subject to a deeply personal assault and Jarrod wasn’t arrogant enough to think it affected him any more than it had Grace. Sure, there were other elements to his attack, the burning and the whipping, but those were just superficial. If that was all there had been, he didn’t think he’d be undergoing the same degree of torment. If he was still suffering from the after-effects, he had no doubt Grace was suffering the same.

When he came back with the coffeepot full of water, Jarrod found that Grace had already managed to get a small fire going with the wood he’d found. He set the pot at the edge of the flames and couldn’t help a shiver at the contrast of the fire’s warmth and the cooling evening air.

“You’re cold.” Grace hesitantly started to unbutton the coat she was still wearing. “You should take this back.”

He stopped her with a hand on hers. “No. You need it more than I do.” She looked at him with uncertain eyes. “Please.”

Grace gave him a small, grateful smile. Jarrod pulled out some biscuits he’d picked up in town and handed her one to nibble on while they waited for the coffee to boil.

“I was in the bank, making a deposit for my uncle,” Grace said without preamble. “Those two men came in with their guns drawn and demanded money.” Jarrod remained quiet while she told her story. “They said I was just a bonus when they grabbed me.” He looked over when he heard her voice catch with a sob. “I was wearing a new dress I’d just finished. I knew it was too flashy, I knew I shouldn’t have made the neckline so low. They must’ve thought…”

“No decent man would have thought that,” Jarrod assured her quietly. “It probably wouldn’t have mattered if you were covered completely in a nun’s habit to animals like them. It wasn’t your fault, Grace. Never think that.”

She gave him a grateful glance. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I’m only saying what’s true.”

They sipped their coffee and sat silently by the fire a little longer before Jarrod spread the bedrolls close to the flames’ warmth. He made sure Grace knew it was his blankets she was using; he didn’t think knowing she was using those of her assailants would be beneficial to her peace of mind.

*

Jarrod woke, shaking. The nightmare that he hoped was banished had returned, but as it retreated into the shadows, he didn’t think it had been as intense or as real as the ones of the previous months. A soft hand on his shoulder caused him to look up into concerned brown eyes.

“Are you all right?” Grace asked softly.

Jarrod dragged a hand across his face. “I will be,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “It was just a bad dream. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I wasn’t really asleep.” Grace sat beside him as Jarrod moved into a seated position. He took a deep breath to try to banish the terror that had resurged and saw Grace staring at her hands.

“It happened to you, didn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question and Jarrod didn’t answer right away. “The way you seem to understand, and then some of the things you said in your sleep…” Her voice trailed off into the darkness.

“It was a while ago,” Jarrod finally admitted and was a bit surprised to see empathy in her eyes, not disgust.

“Is that where you got the scars on your back?” When Jarrod was silent, Grace hurriedly apologized. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I just couldn’t help seeing them when you were at the store…”

Jarrod forced a small smile. “No, it’s okay. I just haven’t talked about it with anyone.” He took a deep breath to compose his thoughts and remembered Heath telling him that talking about it might help. And when he looked into her eyes, he knew Grace would understand. “I was involved in a shooting a while ago. The man’s uncle held me responsible and hired someone to kill me, but not without breaking me first. I managed to escape, but not before…” Jarrod shuddered as the words brought back that terrible night, but the fear that had once overwhelmed him remained under control.

“Are those men still out there?”

Jarrod shook his head. “No,” he said. “They’re both dead.”

“I’m glad.” Grace’s response was very matter-of-fact. “And I’m glad those other men are dead, too.” She moved closer and Jarrod hesitantly placed his arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t pull away, he drew her to him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Grace,” he told her again, “just like it wasn’t mine.” For the first time, Jarrod started to believe that. He and his brothers didn’t have any other choice when they shot Matt Coulter. He hadn’t asked to be tortured and raped and all the men he killed had taken any other option out of his hands by their own actions. A bit more of his disquiet left him. He didn’t really think anyone in his family would censure him for what happened. They might pity him, something he could do without, but he knew they wouldn’t think any less of him for what he had suffered at the hands of another.

“I wish others could believe the same as you.” Grace sounded forlorn. “I know everyone’s going to think that I did something to ask for it…”

Jarrod squeezed her shoulders in reassurance. “There are others who would believe the same,” he told her, as much for his own benefit as hers, “but there’s no need for anyone to know. I’ll make sure everyone thinks you were rescued before they had a chance.” He locked his eyes with hers. “I promise, Grace.”

Her lips trembled and her eyes glinted with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jarrod placed a tender kiss on her lips. “No thanks needed. Now I think we should try to get some sleep and we can decide what to do in the morning.”

Grace looked at him hesitantly. “Do you think… Would it be all right if I brought my blankets a little closer?”

Jarrod nodded and Grace pulled her bedroll beside his before they both crawled under the blankets.

“Good night, Jarrod.”

“Good night, Grace.”

Grace slipped her hand out from under the blankets and shyly reached towards him. Jarrod took her hand gently in his and they both drifted off to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Jarrod held Grace in the middle of the night when she woke crying from her own nightmare. He felt guilty that comforting her helped him let go some of his own demons and hoped that she could take some solace in knowing he understood. She seemed to accept his support and relaxed as he murmured words of reassurance. Grace eventually fell asleep still cradled in his arms and they both woke not long after sunrise.

Not much was said that morning. They took turns washing in the stream and Grace made coffee and fried up some bacon while Jarrod saw to the horses. Their breakfast was eaten in silence, but it wasn’t strained, even though Jarrod could tell Grace was lost in her own thoughts. He took the dishes to the stream to rinse them and prepared to break camp.

“Do you really think I can go back?” Grace suddenly asked as Jarrod doused the fire.

Jarrod tucked the coffeepot back in his saddlebag. How many times had he asked himself the same question? “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m probably not the best person to answer that.”

She looked at him curiously and Jarrod found that he was at ease enough to elaborate. “I couldn’t handle it,” he admitted. “I was afraid someone would find out what happened. The pity on their faces from the injuries was bad enough,” he looked down at his hand as he flexed the fingers as far as they would go, “but the humiliation I thought I’d suffer if they figured out the rest…” He shook his head. “So I left. I don’t know if it was the best decision, but it was the only one I could make at the time.” He met her gaze. “I miss my family, Grace, more than I ever thought. And I know they’re probably worried about me, just like your uncle is probably worried about you.”

“Are you going to go back?”

Jarrod thought of the sweeping plains of his family’s ranch. He thought of his vivacious sister and the quiet strength of his mother. And he thought about his brothers and the close bond they shared, even though he didn’t always get to spend as much time with them as he’d like to. He missed them all terribly and, with no fear, his heart urged him to go home. He might not be fully healed, but he knew he’d never be complete without their love and support.

“Yes. But not until I make sure you’re all right.”

“But you hardly even know me,” Grace tried to protest.

Jarrod responded with a warm smile. “I have a sister about the same age as you. If she were alone and hurt, I hope there’d be someone willing to take care of her.” He hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked over to fasten them behind the saddle of his waiting horse before turning and extending his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” Grace accepted his offer and Jarrod got her settled in the saddle. He swung onto his own mount and gathered up the reins. “So where are we off to?” he asked.

Grace stared at the reins in her hands and then turned her brown eyes to meet his blue. “Home,” she said simply. “I want to go home.”

 

*

Hal Perkins grabbed Grace into a sweeping hug when they dismounted in front of his store. “Oh, Grace, honey, you’re safe!” Jarrod thought he detected a glint of tears in the stout man’s eyes.

“Jarrod rescued me,” she told him and she gave Jarrod a grateful smile. She had taken great care before they reached town to mend her torn dress and Jarrod knew how much effort it took to maintain her brave face.

“Well, I thank you, Mr. Barkley.” Perkins grabbed Jarrod’s hand and shook it vigorously. “So does the rest of the town. We’ve been out searching, but our best tracker is off in the mountains somewheres and we had no idea where to start looking.” He looked Grace over carefully. “Did they hurt you, honey?”

“No.” Grace kept her eyes downcast as she shook her head and Jarrod stepped in to ease her discomfort.

“If you have any law around here, I’d be obliged if you point me in their direction.” Jarrod gestured to the outlaws’ horses. “These belonged to the men who kidnapped Grace and took the money from the bank. Took a look in the saddlebags, from what Grace told me, the money’s all there.”

“And those good-for-nothings?” Perkins’ face was grim.

“Dead,” Jarrod said without elaboration.

Perkins nodded. “Nearest law’s a couple days ride. We didn’t even get a chance to report it, so I reckon everything’s settled unless someone comes around asking.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If you’d care to write out what happened in case there’s any questions, I’ll witness it for you.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Jarrod agreed, “and then I should be on my way.”

Grace put a hand on his arm. “Jarrod, it’s late. Surely you’ll stay for supper.”

“And no need for you to camp out when we’ve got a spare room and bed,” Perkins added. “It’s the least we can do after what you’ve done.”

“All right,” Jarrod accepted gracefully. “I appreciate the hospitality and I’ll head out tomorrow instead.” He smiled at the affectionate arm Perkins placed around Grace’s shoulders and knew she’d be safe and loved as they walked towards home.

Home. The word echoed in his mind as he followed them down the street. He didn’t begrudge the extra day, but his heart yearned to ride through the gate to the big white house and to be embraced by the loving arms of his own family once again.

*

Jarrod lay in bed, thinking about home when he heard the door open. He tensed and then relaxed when he saw the curvy silhouette in the doorway.

“Grace?” he asked as he sat up. Everyone had long since gone to bed and he hoped she was all right.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Jarrod heard the note of uncertainty in her voice. “No. Is something wrong?”

Grace shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Her dark hair shone in the moonlight. “You’re really leaving tomorrow?”

Jarrod nodded. “I have to. You’re safe here with your uncle and I need to get back to my life and my family.” He looked at her closely. “Grace, what is it?”

Grace’s breath caught in her throat as she looked him in the eye. “Would you… would you make love to me, Jarrod?”

Jarrod was taken aback at the unexpected request. “Grace, you can’t… I can’t…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, hurriedly getting up, “of course you don’t want me, not after…”

The pain of rejection in her eyes cut him deeply. Jarrod threw off the covers and caught her before she reached the door. “Oh, god, Grace, no, that’s not it at all.” He cupped her face in his hand and turned her head to look at him. “You are an absolutely beautiful and desirable woman and I’m completely flattered.” He guided her back to the bed and sat her down beside him. “But I can’t take advantage of you, Grace, not after what happened.” He closed his eyes in sorrow. “I don’t even know if I can…” He couldn’t voice his fear that he might not be able to be a man to her or any woman.

Grace reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jarrod, I probably shouldn’t have asked. I just…” She hesitated before catching Jarrod’s gaze. “After what happened, I… I know it’s supposed to be enjoyable and I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Jarrod leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “And it is supposed to be enjoyable.” As Grace wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer for a longer kiss, Jarrod felt himself become aroused and didn’t fight the feeling. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, Grace,” he whispered, “and I don’t want to compromise you. But…” He knew other ways he could bring her pleasure that didn’t come with the risk of hurting and found himself wanting to give that to her.

Jarrod drew her down on the bed to lie beside him. He kissed her lips, her face and her neck before slipping his hand under her nightgown. He started to push it up before asking, “May I?”

Grace nodded and Jarrod slowly pushed the fabric up over her legs. Running his hands along her legs to her hips, Jarrod moved to kiss his way up her thigh. He wasn’t about to pin her or make her feel helpless in any way, he wanted her to enjoy the experience.

His hands made lazy circles across her belly as his lips continued to caress the innermost part of her thighs until he felt her relax. He nibbled across where her leg joined her hip and then back to nuzzle the dark nest of hair at the top. “If you want me to stop,” he whispered, “just tell me.”

Grace responded by wordlessly caressing the top of his shoulders and arms. Jarrod took that as permission and settled himself between her legs. He kissed her hidden nub and used his tongue to tweak it gently. Slipping his arms under her thighs, he lifted and spread them to provide his mouth more access. Jarrod’s tongue ran across her clit until Grace arched toward him and he left that spot to lick across her soft folds. He was happy to taste the musky flavour of her arousal and gently probed his tongue into her center. Grace gasped in delight and pushed up against him, so Jarrod thrust his tongue into her faster and harder. He pushed and licked and nuzzled until he felt her hands lace through his hair to pull him closer. Jarrod concentrated his efforts and was rewarded with Grace’s sharp gasps and moans and the clenching of her inner muscles as she reached her peak. He kept his face buried in her warmth until she completely relaxed and then slipped up to lie beside her.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked as he brushed a loose tendril of hair off her face.

“Oh, god, Jarrod, yes,” Grace breathed. “Is it always supposed to be like that?”

“If your partner cares how you feel, yes,” he promised. And that was the truth of it, he realized. He did care how his partner felt and did care enough not to cause any pain. As Grace said, sex was supposed to be enjoyable and Jarrod’s doubts as to his worth as a man faded.

“But I want to please you too, Jarrod.” Grace’s words broke into his thoughts. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Touch me, Grace?” he asked in almost a whisper. Grace nodded and trailed her hand under the unbuttoned top of his underwear. She caressed his chest and stomach only to pause when she reached the hair on his groin and the hard male organ that jutted upwards. Jarrod took her hand in his, guided it to his aching manhood and wrapped her fingers around it. “Stroke me, Grace, like this.” He directed her movements and inhaled sharply at the sensation. It had been a long time since he’d even touched himself and Grace’s touch caused indescribable pleasure. But the friction of her hand on his dry shaft started to get uncomfortable. “We need something to make it easier,” he groaned, “more slippery.”

Grace paused in her movements and sat up. Jarrod saw her rub her hand between her legs to collect her own wetness and more blood rushed to his groin. He closed his eyes in bliss as Grace resumed her ministrations and lost himself in the sensations.

“Harder, Grace, faster,” he breathed and she complied. She stroked his maleness with as much force and speed as she could and Jarrod’s balls tightened against the base of his shaft. “Oh, god,” he moaned and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out as he thrust sharply into her hand. His seed exploded across her fingers and onto his stomach and Jarrod gasped for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of his orgasm. Grace continued to stroke him slowly as he shuddered and expelled his last drops.

When the last pulse died away, Jarrod pulled her close to him. “Thank you, Grace,” he said softly.

She kissed him lightly. “I’ll miss you, you know.”

Jarrod gazed into her soft brown eyes. “I’ll miss you too. Maybe you can come visit sometime.”

“Maybe.” Grace kissed him again before she slid out of the bed. “Good night, Jarrod.”

“Good night.” He watched as she left and shut the door behind her before closing his eyes to fall asleep.

*

 

Heath wiped the sweat from his brow as he straightened up from refastening the tongue on the wagon. It was a hot one and he reckoned he had earned a break to cool down. Walking to the pump, he ran the cool water over his head and let it run down his sweaty chest and back.

Heath looked up at the sound of hoofbeats and a lopsided grin spread over his face. The rider’s posture was straight and confident and if his oldest brother looked a little leaner and a littler harder, Heath thought it sat well on him. He slicked back his hair, wiped his hands on his pants and sauntered over to where Jarrod was slowly dismounting.

“Howdy, Jarrod,” Heath said nonchalantly as if his brother had only returned from a day in town, “you’re just in time for dinner.”

Jarrod tipped back his hat and Heath was relieved to see the customary sparkle back in his brother’s eyes. It had been several long months of worry and the family had been overjoyed to receive a letter just the other day proving that Jarrod was all right. From the look on his face, the long sojourn had done its work and Heath sent up a quiet prayer of thanks.

“Y’know Heath, I think I’d appreciate even Audra’s cooking today.”

Heath chuckled as Jarrod slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Heath assured him, “Silas was busy in the kitchen not half an hour ago and it smelled mighty good.” He put his own arm around Jarrod. “We’ll let Ciego come and take care of Jingo. I know there’s a few people who’ll be mighty glad to see you.”

Jarrod blinked back a tear at the unconditional acceptance and love he felt from his brother. And as he went into the house to the exuberant greetings of the rest of his family, Jarrod knew that although it wasn’t all going to be easy, he was on the last steps of the road to healing. With the love of his family, he was certain that he’d once again become the strong, confident man he truly was.

 

FIN


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